


One To Ten

by JolinarJackson



Series: Lights To Guide You Home [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 17:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolinarJackson/pseuds/JolinarJackson
Summary: Iron Man, anAvenger, had stumbled inside the Emergency Room just a moment ago, his suit gleaming wet in the harsh neon-lights. In his arms, he was holding the teenager New York – and the world – had come to identify as the 'Queens Orphan'. It looked as if he was sleeping, cradled securely in Iron Man's grip like a child.But there was too much blood for that to be the case.After their return to New York and with the adoption still pending, Tony struggles with the boundaries of being a legal guardian while Peter fears that moving to Manhattan means he is losing his connection to Queens and his life there. When Peter's danger-sense starts acting up in the face of an unknown threat and an unexpected visitor drops by with news from Steve, the simmering conflict comes to a head, forcing both Peter and Tony to admit some things they'd rather kept to themselves.Like the fact that Tony didn't tell Peter the entire truth about Germany.Or the reason Peter sometimes wakes up crying and terrified of the dark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Tony/Pepper (past)  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Spoilers: _Captain America – Civil War_  
>  Setting: sometime after _Captain America – Civil War_  
>  Warnings: Violence (also against a minor), implied experiments on human beings, referenced character death, referenced suicide, referenced alcohol and drug abuse by minors, grief, bullying  
> Contains: Language  
> Author's Note: This is LONG! I don't even know why. Also, I'm experimenting with a kind of fragmented story-telling here and I'm scared as hell because I doubt this whole thing. So I forced myself to publish the first chapter today and see what happens. I had planned to publish this much sooner, but then a _Spider-Man – Homecoming_ trailer came out and then a teaser and then an interview with Tom Holland and then I didn't know anymore if my story was going to fit into the canon at all and I experienced a writer's block from hell, during which I moved house and got distracted by IKEA … so I just started to go completely AU. Some of this is still inspired by the trailers (some dialogue is taken from them), but very likely not following the same story – as evidenced by the fact that the Vulture isn't in this at all.  
>  Beta: None. If somebody is willing to volunteer, please leave a message.  
> Disclaimer: I’m not making money with this fanfic. The Marvel Cinematic Universe as well as the Marvel Comics and the characters appearing within them belong to their producers and creators. Any similarities to living or dead persons are purely coincidental and not intended.

**Please note that some characters will only be tagged after they are identified to avoid spoilers and make this a fun ride. All warnings listed above apply.**

 

***  
***

 

**NOW**

 

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room, everyone stunned in the face of something that had never happened before. The Emergency Room of the Manhattan General Hospital was quiet for once, eerily so, everyone's attention on the anomaly that stood out among the doctors, nurses, patients and their families.

Iron Man, an _Avenger_ , had stumbled inside the Emergency Room just a moment ago, his suit gleaming wet from the rain in the harsh neon-lights. In his arms, he was holding the teenager New York – and the world – had come to identify as the 'Queens Orphan'. It looked as if he was sleeping, cradled securely in Iron Man's grip like a child.

But there was too much blood for that to be the case. It was soaking the front of the teenager's blue t-shirt, coloring it a dark red. Bruises stood out on his slack and pale face. One of his hands hung down limply at an odd angle.

Somewhere, the camera of a cellphone clicked softly, easily heard in the silence.

”I need help,” Iron Man said, the mechanical voice only carrying because it was so quiet. His helmet slid open to reveal Tony Stark's face, pale and desperate. ”Help me.” His voice broke when he added, ”Please. He's dying.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

_“Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you, Stark.”_

The bruise looked worse in the bright lights of Peter's bathroom; a dark shadow marking his cheek and going up to circle around his eye.

There was no way Pepper wouldn't notice.

He sighed and grabbed one of the towels, soaking it with cold water.

_“You're nothing but a good story, Queens.”_

Peter pressed the towel against his eye, dabbing at the small cut near his brow to clean the blood away. He switched off the lights as he returned to the large guest bedroom that had become his own a few weeks ago. The queen-sized bed had been made while he'd been at school, the mess of books and papers scattered on the desk by the panorama window was now stacked neatly, the doors to the wardrobe in the corner he'd left open this morning were closed and his laptop had been cleared from the carpet to sit on the bed.

The whole room had a clean, tidy atmosphere to it that had been sorely lacking just a few hours earlier. It looked almost sterile now with the white walls and the dark carpet and designer furniture, even more so because Peter hadn't brought much when he'd moved in, his few belongings barely able to fill the bookshelf and wardrobe. The _Star Wars_ poster near the door looked a little lost compared to the large picture of New York in black and white above the bed.

Peter stood there for a moment, missing the cramped and cluttered room in his and May's apartment, with the second-hand furniture and the memories. With May just down the hallway. She would have scolded him for leaving his room a mess this morning and he felt guilty for a moment, also for leaving the dishes in the kitchen sink. 

He knew Tony's maid Felicia would never complain; Tony paid her more than enough for cleaning the penthouse. Still ... it felt like he was giving her work that was unnecessary. Peter was used to doing chores, he'd had a list of small tasks while he'd been living with Ben and May. However, since he'd come to live with Tony, the topic hadn't come up. Since Felicia came in every day and left the penthouse spotless, Peter doubted that it ever would. Tony wasn't the type to worry about household chores.

Pulling his laptop closer with one hand while still pressing the cold towel against his black eye, Peter settled against the headboard of the bed. The battered computer responded sluggishly when he switched it on and Peter closed his eyes to try and relax while it booted up.

_“You're just lucky that your parents offed themselves when Tony Stark needed a new hobby.”_

Mike Sullivan's words had hit closer to home than Peter had wanted him to know. Not because his words had cut into the few memories Peter had of his parents but because they'd brought back the much fresher grief he felt for his aunt and uncle. Peter had been five years old when Ben and May had sat him down and told him that his parents would not come to pick him up, that there had been a horrible accident … it had all been so long ago that he would barely remember what they looked like if it weren't for the pictures he had stowed away in the desk drawer. May and Ben had taken their places so completely that they were the ones he automatically thought of when asked about his family.

It wasn't just because he'd been so young when they'd taken him in. Even before his parents had died, he'd spent a lot of his childhood in May and Ben's apartment. Ben often groused about responsibilities and priorities when talk turned to Peter's parents and he'd only later come to realize what it had meant: that Ben didn't approve of Peter's parents feeling committed to something that wasn't their son.

He wondered sometimes why that thought didn't hurt more.

Peter set the towel aside when his laptop had booted up and opened Skype. Ned wasn't online. Peter checked his watch, noticing that he was actually the one being late for their chat because of Mike cornering him with his friends on the way out of school. He grabbed his cellphone and sent off a quick text to Ned to let him know he was online now and aimlessly surfed the internet for a bit.

When Ned hadn't answered half an hour later, hadn't even read the message apparently, Peter let himself slide down on the bed with a tired sigh, hugging one of the pillows to his chest.

He wanted the day to be over, he wanted Ned to log on and listen, he wanted to punch Mike in the face ... he wanted May and Ben back. May's hugs and Ben's steady, collected and reasonable words, soothing Peter's helpless anger at bullies and reminding him that he was smarter than that, that Ben expected more from him, that violence wasn't the answer.

May would kiss Peter's forehead and ask whether they should call the school. Ben would clap a hand on his shoulder and smile, never holding on to his anger or disappointment for long.

But Ben and May were gone and that hurt more than anything Mike or Flash or any other bully had ever done to Peter, because it was his fault. If it weren't for him, if it weren't for _Spider-Man_ ...

Peter stared at the Skype window until his eyes hurt. Then he slapped the laptop shut and turned his back to it.

***

_The sound of beeping woke him, his eyes opening blearily ... finding a white-clad figure with a syringe standing over him. Peter flinched, his hands and feet jerking against bonds pinning him to a stretcher, his strength failing him as the room started spinning dangerously, making him nauseous._

_Dark eyes stared at him, appraising, watching as if Peter was a particularly interesting animal. ”Might have gone overboard with the sedative,” the man in white said, his features blurring as tears started to fill Peter's eyes. His breathing became ragged, panicked, when fingers slid over his arm, into the crook of his elbow. ”Then again, you didn't go down easily.”_

_The syringe came down._

_Peter started to hyperventilate, kicking and pulling, throwing his whole body weight into the bonds._

_”You won't be able to break them. You're not our first Inhuman.”_

_Peter screamed and everything became unbearably bright, loud ... hot. There was fire, smoke, water all around him, pebbles and sharp stones under his hands, slicing into his palms, a hand around his throat and a rough voice in his ear._

_”You owe me.”_

Peter startled awake, his arms tight around the pillow, the air feeling too thin, blinking at the door. The loud beeping that had woken him switched off and F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice came on. _”Peter, it is my duty to remind you that you have a dinner invitation from Miss Potts for tonight.”_

Peter took a few deep breaths to calm down, cramming the nightmare-memory away. He'd never told anybody about it, about _him_ , and he had resolved that it was better that way.

_”You have thirty minutes,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

He looked at the clock, wiping a shaky hand over his face.

_”Peter, I need verbal confirmation,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. insisted. For an AI, she sounded gentle as if she was able to notice his distress. Knowing Tony, she probably was.

”Yeah,” Peter answered. ”Yeah, sorry. I'm up.” He stretched and sat up, running a hand over his hair to try and flatten it, considering a change of clothes. Pepper had mentioned taking him out to a restaurant tonight, as a friend of hers was going to join them. Peter didn't mind that, just happy to see her. Dinner had become the highlight of his day since Tony had left a week ago, holed up in meetings somewhere in Washington. With the adoption still up in the air, leaving had been a tough decision for him, even though Peter had told him several times that it was fine with him.

Only when Tony had finally left, Peter had noticed that he probably wasn't that fine with it after all, though he would never admit to it. Even with Pepper joining him for dinner every evening and staying until he went to bed, the penthouse lay oddly empty and silent whenever she wasn't there. Especially in the mornings. With the sun just starting to peek into the panorama windows, the faint light shimmering on expensive furniture and polished floors, the feeling of not quite belonging into this life, into Tony's life, had started to manifest.

It had been easier while they'd been staying at the Avengers Facility, with Vision and Rhodey around, and New York and daily life so far away. Peter had slept a lot and for the first time in months, he hadn't felt swamped, hurried and tired. But when the summer holidays had ended, they'd returned to New York, clearing out the apartment in Queens and settling into the penthouse together. Tony had enrolled Peter in a private school in Manhattan that he'd attended himself for a while when he'd been a teenager. Rochester Academy was considered one of the best high schools in the country but also one of the most expensive. Needless to say, Peter felt hopelessly out of place.

He entered the bathroom with a sigh and avoided looking into the mirror until he'd brushed his teeth. When he finally _did_ look at his reflection, he cursed. The bruise had turned livid, the skin around the cut swollen. He poked gently at it and grimaced. “Is there any chance she might not notice?” he muttered.

_“I'm afraid the chances are slim, Peter,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered.

“I thought so.” He stared at himself, sighing deeply. He knew that if he told Tony he was deeply unhappy at Rochester, he would probably go and find another school, without hesitation. However, that wouldn't solve the problem. Peter didn't have a problem with Rochester in itself, he struggled with fitting into the crowd of students visiting private schools in general. Peter had never been one to make friends easily, shy and awkward and quick to stutter as he was when he felt flustered or out of his depth. Which happened to be almost always these days.

Peter certainly hadn't been anything close to popular at Midtown High, but at least he'd belonged. The students there were from his neighborhood, he'd known many of them since kindergarten, their families were all trying to make ends meet. Rochester students had grown up with money and influence in abundance and the self-confidence to match. The moment Peter had first walked through the gate with his worn hoodie jacket and washed out jeans, wearing a t-shirt saying _The physics is theoretical but the fun is real_ , it had been clear to everyone there that he didn't belong. Most of them simply ignored him, some weren't above exchanging a few words about class or homework. Others talked about him behind his back when they thought he couldn't hear them, the comments covering everything from his cheap clothes to his freakish math skills.

Unfortunately, there were also those who weren't happy about just talking about him behind his back.

Peter turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom with a sigh. He went through his shirts and found a blue button-down that he figured was alright for a restaurant. ”Fri, when's Tony coming back?”

_”Boss booked a plane ticket for this evening.”_

Changing into dark jeans, Peter asked, ”Late?”

_”Keeping to your usual pattern, you will already be asleep by the time he arrives. Do you want me to rely a message upon his arrival?”_

Peter sighed, unsure. Pepper would certainly mention the bruise to Tony. He wondered whether he should beat her to it and explain it away with a stupid argument gone too far. Up until now, he'd successfully hidden his problems at school. The last thing Peter wanted was to create problems or make Tony see him as a child. After all, Tony was the guy who'd once told him that Spider-Man was an asset, who'd let Peter go out at night to fight crime and even equipped him for it, who'd looked for Peter's opinion on improving the suit and the web-shooters. It meant a lot to him that he'd been able to gain Tony's respect, he didn't want to lose it over appearing as some kind of victim.

Just because he wasn't Spider-Man anymore, just because he didn't have a family anymore, just because Tony would have to sign slips for school ... he didn't want their relationship to change.

”Tell him I'm alright,” he said, but it sounded stupid and clingy a moment later. ”Delete that.”

_”Are you sure?”_

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and hovered in front of his wardrobe again, finally grabbing the denim jacket that May had bought him a few months ago. ”Yes, I'm sure.” He stopped at his desk to get his wallet and looked at the picture of May and Ben he kept there, taped to the wall. It had been taken at some neighborhood get-together a couple of years ago. May was leaning back in Ben's arms, both of them smiling. He swallowed. ”I'm fine.”

***

Peter saw Pepper and her friend before they saw him. They were seated on one of the couches in Avengers Tower's lobby, just off to the side of the Stark Industries reception. Pepper usually kept her hair tied back or in an elegant bun at work, but today, it cascaded down on her shoulders, standing out against the dark-blue blazer she wore over a white business dress.

At first, Peter had felt intimated by her. She was so elegant and self-assured and Tony had made her his CEO, so he was convinced that she was a force to be reckoned with. His nervousness had faded away, though. Pepper was easy to be around and their relationship had only deepened since Peter had started to live with Tony. She made it a point to stop by for dinner at least twice a week. And now, while Tony was away, she checked up on him several times a day via text messages and once a day personally, for dinner.

Pepper was laughing about something the man sitting opposite her had said, shaking her head. Happy, standing just off to the side, was the first to notice him and he froze when he did, clearly shocked at the bruise. He said something to Pepper and her smile faded when she saw Peter. She got up to meet him half-way, her face drawn into a worried frown. He gave a sheepish smile, which didn't seem to help at all.

”My God, Peter, what happened to your face?” She tilted his chin up, her thumb brushing along the bruise, and winced in sympathy when he grimaced. Her blue eyes narrowed. ”Who did this?”

”Nobody,” he replied, inching away from her touch. “I was clumsy.”

Pepper put her hands on her hips. ”You ran into somebody's fist by accident?”

”It was a stupid fight. I'm fine.”

Pepper turned to Happy. ”Check if medical services is still available, would you?”

”No, no, no,” Peter said quickly, looking at Happy pleadingly. “It's no big deal.”

Pepper crossed her arms. ”I'll call the school.”

”No.” Peter shook his head.

”Peter-”

”Please. It was partly my fault, I should've kept my mouth shut. I don't need medical services. It's fine. It'll heal.”

Pepper gave an exasperated glare at Happy, who looked undecided.

“Please,” Peter said again.

A smooth voice interrupted from behind Pepper. ”I can't count the amount of times I came home with a black eye.” Her friend. He was tall and lean, but clearly athletic. His blue eyes shone with mirth as he gave Peter a winning smile. “Hi, Peter, nice to meet you. I'm Gareth.” He reached out a hand and Peter accepted it automatically.

Pepper cleared her throat. “Gareth is heading the R&D department now. He came highly recommended from Oscorp.”

Peter felt a tingle in his neck, like cold water trickling down, but more intense. He couldn't help but take a step back, his heart skipping a beat before going faster. He stopped himself from balling his hands to fists and falling into a fighting stance, barely. Gareth was still smiling, his handsome face relaxed and open. The thing Peter had come to identify as a sense of danger – an instinct that had helped him many times during fights to duck, jump, roll, grab and kick to avoid harm –, the thing that blared at him when Flash or Mike cornered him, that had once stopped him from being hit by a car on his way home … the 'danger-sense' … it gnawed at him, a shudder running down spine ... because of this man. His body was tense, wary.

There was no imminent danger, nothing to duck away from, no knife or gun.

Just the winning smile.

And the fact that he came from they very company that had experimented on the spider Peter had been bitten by, causing his body chemistry to somehow change and Spider-Man to emerge.

Gareth looked at Pepper. ”I'm sure Peter knows the difference between an argument gone out of hand and bullying. I don't think calling the school is necessary if this has happened for the first time and won't happen again.”

Peter swallowed. ”It won't,” he forced out, ”happen again.” He looked at Pepper. ”It's fine.”

He hadn't convinced her, he could tell. For the sake of their company, though, she let it slide. ”Okay. If you're sure.” She put on a smile. ”We should go then. We'll lose the reservation.”

”Car's outside,” Happy supplied and led the way.

The air was cold, slapping Peter out of his stupor a bit. He took a few calming breaths, trying to get his heart to calm down. By the time Happy wished Pepper a good night and closed the limousine door for them, he felt a bit better.

”So,” Gareth said from his seat opposite Peter, still smiling. “Pepper has been raving about you. You are into science, right?”

”Yeah.” A headache started to form, his danger-sense still not sure what to do with the non-specific threat except to continue to draw Peter's attention to it. “And mechanics and engineering.”

”Like father, like son,” Gareth said.

Peter pressed back into his seat. ”Tony's not my father.”

Gareth's smile dimmed. ”Right. I apologize. That was a thoughtless thing to say.”

The limousine pulled out into traffic. Peter's headache lessened a bit and he breathed a sigh of relief.

”Peter, I told Gareth about the internship with the R&D department that you started,” Pepper said.

Peter looked at her, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I had to ...” He turned to Gareth. “I had to quit it. Personal reasons.”

“Of course,” Gareth said. “Well, I've been saying to Pepper today that it wouldn't be a problem for you to do the internship now. We could work around your school schedule. Just give me a call and I'll set you up with someone. I might even take you in personally.”

Peter thought that sounded like a threat. ”I'm fine,” he answered. ”For now.”

Gareth just smiled. ”It's a standing invitation.”

Peter didn't like him.

It happened very rarely that he met someone and immediately decided he couldn't stand them. He'd been raised not to judge too quickly. But something was off about Gareth.

”I'm hoping to be with Stark Industries for quite a while, so don't hesitate if you decide you want to take me up on the offer in three months or so. I think you would benefit from it. Stark Industries has some interesting projects in the pipeline.”

“And Oscorp?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. “Why did you leave them? I hear they have interesting projects as well.”

“I've been with Oscorp since I graduated from MIT. I was looking for a change. The timing was perfect.” He smiled at Peter. ”I think that Stark Industries is the place where I'll finally be able to find what I've been looking for.”


	2. Chapter 2

**NOW**

 

Tony sat quietly in the waiting room that had been pointed out to him, having chosen a seat in the back corner to try and remain as unnoticeable as possible. There were only three other people scattered around the room: An old man with his arm around a young, crying woman and a pale-faced man in a jogging suit, who alternated between checking his phone and staring out the window.

It had been five hours since Tony had entered the Emergency Room. Five hours since they'd taken Peter away and told Tony to wait. Tony hadn't contacted anybody, not sure what to say or how to explain what had happened. He wasn't entirely sure himself. So he settled on waiting until there was something he _could_ report. Pepper was in Paris anyway, Happy had gone with her, and Tony didn't want to wake up Rhodey in the middle of the night when there was nothing he could do to help.

There was nobody else to call. 

That didn't stop him from thumbing through his contacts aimlessly, hesitating whenever he stumbled over May's name. Up until today, he hadn't been aware that he still had her in his phone. He wondered whether Peter did.

He felt eyes staring at him and looked up, meeting the gaze of the man in the jogging suit. He was looking at Tony's face for a moment, then his eyes flitted down to his chest. Tony looked down as well and noticed the blood discoloring the white cotton of his shirt, covering his stomach and smearing up to his shoulder where Peter had grabbed him. He felt a bout of nausea.

Tony had washed his hands before entering the waiting room, but had overlooked this. Probably because he hadn't been able to look at himself in the mirror hanging over the sinks in the hospital bathroom. 

He quickly buttoned his suit jacket with trembling fingers, trying to ignore that there was blood on that as well – at least it was less noticeable there.

The man looked back down at his phone, then at Tony again and Tony's control snapped. “Yes,” he said, causing the old man to look at him as well. “It's me.” He twisted his fingers together, tight enough that it hurt, trying to suppress the need to punch something ... or someone. “I'd prefer not to sign autographs at the moment.”

The man in the jogging suit opened his mouth as if to answer, but then he just got up and approached Tony.

“Listen …,” Tony started, but stopped short when the man turned his phone so that Tony could look at the display. He stiffened when he saw himself standing in the Emergency Room in the Iron Man suit, holding Peter to his chest.

The man softly said, “It's all over the internet.” Tony looked up at him and found sympathy in his dark eyes. “I just thought you might want to know. 'Cause ... media might come. Maybe you might want to ask if you ... can wait somewhere more private.”

Tony didn't know what to say. He looked back at the picture.

“I'm sorry,” the guy said. “That somebody posted this. I wouldn't want my mom's picture out there like this.”

“You're here for your mother?” Tony asked, averting his eyes from the picture. He felt bad for snapping at the guy now.

“Yeah, she took a fall down the stairs while getting a glass of water.” It sounded so _mundane_. An accident that could happen at any time, to _anyone_.

So unlike _'My foster son took three bullets for me after he was beat up by professional criminals trying to get access to my computer system'_. He didn't say that out loud. “I'm sure she'll be alright,” he said instead.

“Thanks. I'm sure he'll be as well.” The man smiled and then returned to his seat.

Tony used his phone to check how far exactly word had already spread. He didn't have to search for long to find that, despite it being the middle of the night, the online edition of the _Daily Bugle_ had already reacted to the picture.

_Queens Orphan fighting for his life!_

_The reasons Iron Man should not be allowed to adopt_

Tony felt sick to his stomach as his eyes flew over the article, his chest tightening. He switched off the display and buried both hands in his hair, bracing his elbows on his knees. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down, the nausea churning in his stomach slowly abating.

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him look up.

Natasha sat next to him, pressing a paper cup with coffee into his hands and placing a folded, clean shirt on his legs.

Tony cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

”You look like you need it,” she answered. Her eyes swept the room, instinctively checking for escape routes and threats, before she relaxed enough to sink back into the chair, one leg crossing over the other. She brushed one strand of her short, red hair back behind her ear daintily. Sometimes, it was hard to imagine that this petite, beautiful woman could be such a ruthless fighter. ”Have you heard anything?”

He shook his head.

Leaning closer to him, she lowered her voice. ”I gave a statement to the police, told them it was breaking and entering, that I have no clue what they could have been after. I wasn't sure what you wanted to tell them.” She paused for a moment, her green eyes sweeping the room once more. “Press has started to gather at the Tower. They know something went down.”

”I took Peter to a packed Emergency Room wearing my suit,” Tony answered. ”Somebody snapped a picture. I'm just surprised they're at the Tower and not here.”

“There are a few downstairs, but nobody's giving them any information. As long as they're not willing to search the place to find you, you should be alright.”

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, sipping on the coffee. ”What can you tell me?”

Natasha hesitated. “Not here.”

Tony heaved a sigh and then nodded, getting up tiredly to follow her outside. It was quiet in the hallway, a few doctors were talking and filling out forms at the nurse's station, a janitor was cleaning the floor at the opposite end. Apart from that, nobody was out in the hallway. It seemed to be good enough for Natasha.

Tony watched Natasha take it all in, her hands going into the pockets her tight jeans as she leaned against the wall in a casual pose that was quite likely only for show. There was blood on her black jacket, crusted red against the leather and the zipper. A faint bruise had formed on her cheek and the white tank top she was wearing was sliced open at her flank. It was a clean cut, one left behind by something like a knife. A thin line of blood had dried around the edges.

Tony frowned in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she answered, lifting the jacket to show him that the cut was bandaged cleanly. “Nothing that won't heal in a few days.”

”So?” Tony asked.

”They were organized. Judging by what I found in their bags, they knew exactly what they were doing and they were well-funded. F.R.I.D.A.Y. helped me with the identification. One of them was a hacker, wanted by pretty much every country in the world. The other two used to work for the CIA, quit and started to freelance as mercenaries. Both are wanted for kidnapping and assassinations. One of them is specialized in breaking into high-security places. The other one organizes and runs their gigs.”

Tony shook his head. ”How did they get into the penthouse?”

”Tony,” Natasha said with a sigh and crossed her arms, “Peter let them in.”

He froze. “What?”

“They had S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. Masks that can be imprinted with anybody's face and are almost indistinguishable from the real thing. I used those things myself, they are perfect. One of them disguised himself and basically just rang the doorbell. Peter let him come upstairs. Once inside the penthouse ...”

“Security goes down.” He stared at her. “That's why they broke in instead of hacking their way into the system from the outside. They couldn't get through the firewalls, but if they were using one of my computers in the penthouse ... a good hacker with S.H.I.E.L.D. gear could break down the defenses.”

Natasha nodded.

Tony rubbed a hand down his face. “Peter wouldn't let just anyone into the penthouse unasked, though.”

“I saw the video footage,” Natasha replied. “The mask they were using was imprinted with your face, Tony. Peter thought he was letting you in.”

Guilt settled in Tony's stomach, heavy and nauseating. “They knew Peter was home alone?”

“Yes, they probably staked out the place. What they weren't counting on was Peter actually putting up a fight and locking down the Tower.”

Tony covered his face with his hands, taking a few deep breaths. ”Peter wasn't supposed to be there. He was supposed to be in Queens. If I hadn't ... if I'd let him ... this is _my_ fault.”

Natasha stepped closer to him, shaking her head. ”You can't think like that, Tony. If not tonight, they would have picked another time.”

” _'It wouldn't be a punishment if it didn't hurt'_ ,” Tony said. ”That's what I said to him. _'It wouldn't be a punishment if it didn't hurt.'_ And it could _kill_ him.”

She took Tony's hand, squeezing tightly. ”He's not going to die, Tony.”

His attention was drawn away from her when a doctor in scrubs approached them, brushing one hand through his gray hair. His dark eyes looked tired, but he smiled politely when he reached them, extending a hand in greeting. ”Mr. Stark, I'm Doctor Swanson. I operated on Peter.”

”How is he?” Tony asked, too tense to do more than briefly return the firm handshake.

Swanson crossed his arms. “We stabilized him and he's responding very well. The worst injuries are the gunshot wounds to the stomach. One of his kidneys was nicked and two ribs were fractured. He lost a lot of blood. It was touch-and-go for a while there, but it's looking good now. I can't make any promises, but Peter seems to be pulling through and I'm positive his kidney will recover without any lasting damage.” Tony breathed a sigh of relief and felt Natasha squeeze his hand for a moment in response when Swanson continued, “That being said, Peter is breathing on his own, but he's extremely weak, so we're giving him oxygen to support him. Aside from his major injuries, we are dealing with a broken wrist, some blunt trauma to his ribcage and face and what appear to be multiple burn marks caused by something like a taser. I understand he got caught up in a home invasion?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “Something like that.”

Swanson nodded. “Right. I hope the police got the guys.”

Natasha didn't hesitate to answer, “They're dead.”

Tony looked at her from the corner of his eye, questioning. As far as he knew, one of them had escaped the fight.

She glanced at him and nodded. “All of them.”

Swanson cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Stark, there's one more thing.” The way his shoulders had tensed as if ready for a fight caused Tony to tense up as well. Swanson glanced at Natasha. ”It's a bit sensitive.”

“That's alright,” Tony replied.

“How long have you been Peter's legal guardian?”

“A few weeks.”

”You're aware of his medical history?”

Tony found himself at a loss. ”I can … I'm sure I can get his file somehow. It … didn't come up until now. He hasn't got any allergies to medications, I think. Just … I think he mentioned something about asthma when he was still a child.”

Swanson nodded. ”You don't happen to know whether he ever went through a trauma that involved medical personnel?”

Tony stared at him. ”Sorry, what?”

Swanson cleared his throat. ”Peter regained consciousness briefly while he was prepared for surgery and the presence of the machines and the medical personnel seemed to trigger a violent flashback. He ripped out a few IVs and gave the anesthetist quite a scare, tried to get off the table.”

Natasha turned to look at Tony, but he was too taken aback to say anything.

”He was lucky that one of the nurses got to him before he could fall off. He was able to keep Peter from hurting himself further and we managed to get him under control and sedated, but I don't think he quite registered what was going on. He … _begged_ to let him go right up until he lost consciousness.” Swanson paused for a moment, before he softly added, “It was rather unsettling.”

Tony rubbed a hand down his face. ”He's jumpy about doctors and hospitals, yes, but … I thought that there was a different reason for that. Not that he … actually went through something.”

”Which kind of brings me to my next question,” Swanson said. ”I have to say that Peter burned through any medication and anesthesia we gave him quite quickly. He's on some pretty strong medication now to reduce the pain and keep him still. The kind I would usually just give to patients who show a high ... tolerance against such substances.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. ”What are you implying?”

”I'm not implying, I'm asking.”

”No, you're not, actually.”

Natasha interrupted quickly, her voice calm and strong, ”Peter is not abusing any substances. He never did abuse substances.”

Swanson raised his eyebrows. ”Are you sure?”

”Absolutely. If he'd hide something like that, I'd see it.”

Tony took a step forward, glaring at Swanson. ”He lives with someone who abused a lot of substances during his life. I'd know and I'd put a stop to it.”

Swanson looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. ”Okay.”

”Can I see him?” Tony asked.

Swanson nodded. ”I'll have someone bring you to him once he's settled.”

”Thank you.”

Swanson nodded and shook both their hands before he left.

Tony rounded on Natasha immediately. ”Really? You couldn't stop yourself from _killing_ the only person left who would have been able to tell us who hired them?”

”It wasn't me, Tony,” she answered, irritated. ”I should have run after him, but I didn't! Because you needed me, remember?”

_There was so much blood on his hands, but he had to keep pressing down, he had to …_

_“Natasha!”_

_Peter gasped for breath as Tony pressed down harder on his stomach, his forehead dropping against Tony's sternum and his bloody fingers twisting into Tony's shirt, the edge of his old, self-made web-shooters digging into Tony's skin painfully._

_”It's okay, Peter,” Tony said, ”it's gonna be okay.”_

_Natasha appeared in his line of vision._

_”I need an ambulance,” Tony said._

_She looked down at Peter, her face twisting. She rarely looked like this: as if she was in pain herself, her skin paling and her eyes widening in shock. ”Tony ...”_

_He saw it in her face - defeat._

_”No,” he said, instinctively pulling Peter closer with one arm, pressing down against the wounds with his other hand._

_Peter became heavier against him, his hand falling from Tony's shoulder and his breath slowing as he became still. “Peter!” Tony shook him, hard, until Peter opened his eyes blearily. Tony could hear Natasha on the phone, giving the address, making the urgency clear but he barely listened. Because Peter was closing his eyes again and Tony knew ... he **knew** that the ambulance wouldn't be there in time._

“He was found dead at the fire exit. Shot to the head.”

He startled back to the present, clearing his throat to rid himself of the memory. “So they pissed somebody off who wasn't us.”

Natasha nodded.

“Who?”

“Believe me,” she said, “I'm gonna find out.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

Pepper was sitting with her feet up on the couch and her blond hair in a messy ponytail. Even dressed in white sweat pants and a hoodie, she managed to look elegant and fashionable. A white dress was hanging over the backrest of the couch, high heels left behind on the floor. She was holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

In the soft lights of the penthouse and with the sparkling city spread out around them as a backdrop, she was easily the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen.

He watched her for a moment from his place at the kitchen island, letting the soft-lighted tranquility of the penthouse rush over him after one week of absence. For a moment, it was almost as if nothing had changed. As if Pepper had never left him. As if she was just waiting for him to get home to enjoy the evening together. 

But things had changed. She would get up and leave to sleep at her own apartment and Tony would go to his bedroom down the hallway alone, just three doors away from the teenager he'd applied to adopt. 

And as for Iron Man ...

”You're back,” Pepper said, smiling at him from the couch. “How did it go?”

Tony sighed deeply and opened the fridge, getting a bottle of water out. ”Every country sent their most paranoid liaison. They're scared Inhumans are trying to kill us all.”

She frowned in concern. ”What are you going to do?”

”What _can_ I do? I'm a consultant. I can tell them what I think, but that doesn't mean they have to _listen_ to me.” He slumped into one of the armchairs tiredly. “Fact is, they are going to amend the Accords to be valid for all people displaying powers. The original Accords written for the Avengers will remain as they are. There are going to be annexes for what they call 'Inhuman neighborhood vigilantes'.”

Pepper swung her feet off the couch, dropping the stack of papers on the cushion next to her. “I don't like this, Tony. I had a bad feeling about the Accords from the start.” She paused, as if she wasn't sure whether to add it at all, but then decided to do it. “You shouldn't have signed them.”

“People died because of us. People died because of others _like_ us. There was no difference anymore, the lines started to blur. It made sense to give us some kind of official backing, to ensure people we're the good guys.”

“If somebody you love dies, it doesn't make a difference _who_ did it or whether some official source sent them. You shifted the responsibility off your shoulders, but that won't make the guilt go away.”

Tony rubbed a hand down his face.

Pepper tilted her head, her face settling into a sympathetic frown. “You've made an emotional snap decision. You should have waited, discussed it with the others. I'm not saying you shouldn't have signed, but maybe, amendments could have been made that Steve could have lived with.”

Sometimes, Tony regretted that he'd told her what had happened between the Avengers. Pepper was of the opinion that he should contact Steve and talk. It wasn't that easy, though. At least not for him. Tony didn't feel entirely ready to talk and he was sure that Steve felt the same way, or he would have tried to contact him again. Tony still had the phone Steve had sent him tucked away in a drawer in his workshop and sometimes, he considered just calling the only number saved into it … but it was becoming easier to ignore its presence with everything that Tony had going on: involving himself in Stark Industries, working as a consultant on the Sokovia Accords amendments, the adoption ...

He cleared his throat. “You're on his side?”

Pepper laughed softly, shaking her head. “On _his_ side? No. Just like you, he made an emotional snap decision that he could have discussed with you. And just for the record, I'm also not on _your_ side. I think you're both wasting time not talking to each other.”

Tony shrugged and looked at her earnestly. “Does it matter? I think ... I'm still considering retiring Iron Man for good.”

Pepper looked at him for a long moment, her lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed. “Tony,” she finally said. ”Are you sure about this?”

Tony huffed a laugh. ”I think Iron Man's caused enough damage.” Besides, the thought of even _getting_ into the suit made him feel claustrophobic ever since Siberia, but he wasn't going to mention that to Pepper. Or anyone. “Besides, I have a kid to think about now, don't I? I'm gonna be a single dad. I shouldn't run around risking my life.”

“I'm not going to tell you what to do, Tony. I think it's important to prioritize Peter, but ... just think about it some more.” She got up, draining the glass of wine, and started to gather her papers.

”How did it go with Peter?” Tony asked, trying to distract himself from how much it still hurt to see her leave. His eyes flitted towards the bar. He was craving a drink, but had promised himself to cut back because of Peter. He could barely remember a time when his father hadn't had a glass of alcohol in his hand. 

Pepper gave him a warm smile. ”It went fine. He's no trouble.”

”Told you so.”

She paused for a moment, then she zipped her handbag and said, ”I think he's being bullied at school, though. He turned up for dinner with a black eye.”

”Did you ask him about it?”

”He said it was his fault, that he … provoked the other kid. I honestly can't believe that. And he never mentions any friends he made there either. I mean, does he even _have_ friends there?”

Tony sighed, getting up as well to pour himself a drink after all. By the time he returned from the bar, Pepper had slipped into some trainers and was telling her driver to pick her up in the garage. As soon as she hung up, Tony said, “So he's got trouble settling in. He'll make friends. It's just a matter of time.”

Pepper gave him an exasperated look. ”We both know it's not just school. You're the one complaining that he turns you down every time you try to offer him something.” 

Tony pressed his lips together. “It's not the same.” 

It was near impossible to get Peter to accept gifts, be it necessary things like clothes or things Tony _wanted_ to give him like a new laptop. Whenever the subject came up, Peter gave Tony a half-smile, a shake of his head and a quick, _'I'm fine, I don't need anything.'_ before he changed the topic. Tony knew he _shouldn't_ feel rejected – Rhodey had told him as much, reminding him that Peter had grown up in an environment with much less of an income and was probably just daunted –, but that didn't quite take the sting away. 

Tony sipped on his drink. ”If he's got trouble at school, I'm letting him deal with it the way he wants to. He's fifteen, not nine. I trust that he can handle it. I trust that he comes to me if he can't.”

Pepper didn't seem happy about that, but she accepted it. ”At least _try_ and talk to him,” she said. ”I'm off now. I'll see you tomorrow at nine.”

”Nine?” 

She gave him a look. ”To introduce Gareth Olson to you, the new head of R&D. We talked about this.”

Tony pulled a face. ”Norman's spy.”

”Tony,” she said, a warning in her voice. ”Nine o'clock and bring your manners.” With that, she pressed a quick kiss against his cheek and left.

Tony sighed and dropped onto the couch, his thoughts going back to Pepper's words about Peter being bullied. It wasn't as if Tony didn't know _something_ was wrong. Peter was better, having regained a certain levity and wit in his interactions with Tony while he'd recovered from May's death at the Avengers Facility. However, he wasn't _fine_. There was something in Peter's eyes sometimes, in the tense set of his shoulders and the way he smiled too brightly that rubbed Tony the wrong way. It was almost painful to watch him measure his words, as if he was protecting Tony from something. The worst thing was that Tony wouldn't even notice if he hadn't been using the very same strategy on pretty much everyone around him for most of his life.

Tony didn't know what to do about it, afraid to put too much pressure on Peter and quite frankly still too unsure about what kind of role he was playing in Peter's life. Unsure about how close he was allowed to get. After all, Peter was fifteen, practically almost an adult. Tony already considered him one in almost every respect. Peter had fought with the Avengers ... _against_ the Avengers. Tony knew that. 

Rationally. 

That didn't change the fact that some small part of him saw Peter as someone he needed to guide and to protect. This hadn't developed with them living together, it had been there from the start. 

And it was hard to let go of.

***

Tony's workshop was one floor up, connected to the main floor by a set of stairs and located directly behind the lab that had been Bruce's realm. Its windows, overlooking the main floor of the open-plan living and kitchen area, had remained dark and lifeless for quite some time. Tony made an effort not to look inside as he passed. The room was just another reminder of a friend he'd lost somewhere along the way.

The workshop, however, lit up brightly when he entered and banished the encroaching feeling of loneliness. _”Welcome home, Boss,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said and she actually sounded excited.

”Good to be back, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he answered and snapped his fingers, moving towards one of the workstations in the middle of the room. ”Fire it up.”

The computers whirred to life, downloading data he'd uploaded to the server during his trip, updating his projects and starting his playlist where he'd last left off. Black Sabbath thumped out of the speakers.

Tony smiled as he brought up three holographic screens in front of him. ”Keep it down, darling, the baby's sleeping.” 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned the volume to a more bearable level. 

He felt more at ease immediately. The workshop was Tony's territory, a place he'd set aside for himself to work. He had one at the Avengers Facility as well, but actually preferred the smaller one in the penthouse. Four of the eight workbenches were currently used by him; parts, tools, snacks, mugs and prototypes scattered around haphazardly. The workshop was the only place Felicia didn't set foot into to clean. Aside from private and Stark Industries-related projects, Tony had used it to work on equipment for Iron Man and the Avengers. He'd designed S.H.I.E.L.D. technology in here, as well as Spider-Man's suit. 

These days, with S.H.I.E.L.D. gone and the Avengers split and with Peter not going out as Spider-Man anymore, the workshop had turned back into what it had been before: the place Tony turned to when he needed a distraction. He was working on improvements for Rhodey's exoskeleton to increase his mobility, some long-forgotten private projects he'd put aside in favor of Iron Man and he used the workshop to mentor Peter and watch his lessons take effect. 

It was a place for both of them to unwind together, work next to each other, bounce ideas around. It was the only place their relationship still seemed to work seamlessly, as if nothing had changed.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted his thoughts. _“Where would you like to start?”_

Tony hesitated, his eyes catching on the bulky mass in the corner of the room. Peter had three workbenches there, littered with cables, wires, papers and tools. All of them dedicated to one single project in their midst. It was hanging from hooks in the ceiling, hovering almost threateningly. Tony didn't need to see the number stenciled into the shoulder plate to know which Iron Man-unit Peter was working on.

Mark 46. 

The suit Tony had worn when he'd fought against Steve and Barnes in Siberia.

It had become Peter's project the day he'd first walked into Tony's workshop shortly after the trip to Germany and set eyes on the severely damaged unit lying abandoned in the corner. Tony hadn't seen any harm in letting Peter keep it, thinking that because he would never use it again, it was perfect to let Peter tinker without risking damage to a workable suit.

However, Tony had underestimated Peter's dedication. Instead of using it to practice, he'd started to _fix_ it, reading Tony's notes on the suits and watching video material from test flights, studying sketches and plans. Tony had left him to it, only getting involved when Peter asked a question. In the end, he'd assumed, Peter would move on to something more interesting, but with May's death and Peter's subsequent refusal to go back to being Spider-Man, his focus on the damaged suit had only intensified. He spent most of his time up here mending gashes and scratches, and trying to fix the damaged boot jet.

Tony swallowed and then answered, “Show me Peter's log on Mark 46.” The logs Peter kept of his projects had started out as a way for Tony to find out where he'd gone wrong or where he could improve without having to look over his shoulder all the time. 

Tony read through the notes for several minutes, scrolling over equations and checking coding … and frowned. He grabbed one of the tablet computers hooked up to Mark 46, calling up the system diagnosis. 

The boot jets showed as online. 

Tony cleared his throat. ”F.R.I.D.A.Y., initiate jet test, Mark 46. Just a small push.”

_”Right away, Boss.”_

Tony watched the suit move a bit from its position as the jets came on. ”Simulation of full flight mode.” 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. crunched the numbers, the tablet computer finally blinking a _Simulation Completed: Success_ at him. 

“Huh,” Tony said, stunned. “I'll be damned.”

”So?” 

Tony turned to the door in surprise. Peter was huddled into a Midtown High sweater and pajama trousers, his feet in the thick woolen socks he only wore at home. The left side of his face was bruised a dark violet. Tony's stomach knotted but he schooled his features to remain neutral. ”You fixed the boot jet,” he said. 

Peter smiled and came closer, his arms remaining crossed over his chest while his eyes lit up with excitement. ”I fixed the boot jet.” 

Tony grinned at him and nodded.”So, how about I give you something a bit more challenging?”

Peter's eyes widened. ”Can I work on the main Arc Reactor now?”

”Something that's not related to this thing.”

Peter's face fell a bit and he hopped onto the workbench closest to the suit, his legs dangling as he took the tablet computer from Tony. ”I wanna work on this suit, though. I can totally deal with an Arc Reactor. You an keep an eye on me while I repair it. I'll have loads of questions anyway, even though I think already have an idea of how to-”

”Peter, do you _actually_ intend to fix this thing?”

Peter hugged the computer to his chest. ”You said I can do with it what I want.”

”And you can, but ...” Tony sighed. ”It's not worth your time.”

Peter looked at him, his face set into a stubborn frown. ”We'll see about that.” 

Tony sighed and returned to his workbench. ”F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up Rhodey's exoskeleton, Mark 5.”

”Will you, though?” Peter asked as the schematic drawings and Tony's notes flared to life on the holographic screens. 

Tony looked at him questioningly.

”Help me,” Peter clarified. 

”You'd have to use one of my spare Arc Reactors. Do you have any idea what they're worth?” He felt bad just a moment later, knowing that he'd been a bit short with Peter for no reason. He should be happy that Peter was asking him for something. It just irked him that it was something which wasn't actually for Peter himself, but would benefit Tony in the end. ”I'll think about it.” He turned back to the schematics. ”How was school?”

”Okay,” Peter answered. 

“Come here a for a second,” Tony said and he heard Peter slide off the workbench hesitantly. He came to stand next to Tony with the tablet computer still pressed tightly to his chest like a shield. Tony tipped Peter's chin up, turning his face into the light. The bruise was already starting to fade at the corners, turning yellow. Peter's healing factor was slow, but reliable. Tony reckoned the bruise would be gone by this time tomorrow. ”How was school?” he asked again, looking into Peter's eyes as he asked. 

Peter stepped away and Tony let go of his chin. ”Okay,” Peter answered again, looking at the exoskeleton schematics. 

Pepper was right: Peter was very likely having trouble at school, but there was a slight chance, minimal and faint, that he hadn't got the injury there. 

”You don't have to lie to me,” Tony said. 

Peter stilled and Tony saw his shoulders hunch.

”If you're going on patrol, I want to know. I won't stop you. But I want to know.” He cleared his throat. ”We'd have to lay down rules-”

”I'm not going on patrol,” Peter interrupted him and turned around to face him, catching Tony's eyes. ”I'd tell you.”

Tony nodded. ”Okay, kid.” He dropped the topic, instead turning to the schematics. Peter did as well while he set down the tablet computer, abandoning the suit for a moment to look over the screens and equations curiously. Tony didn't comment on the time of night or point out the fact that Peter had to go to school tomorrow. Instead, he watched Peter think. He was frighteningly smart, even if his work sometimes lacked elegance or his knowledge had holes. For someone Peter's age who had taught himself pretty much everything he knew, he was impressive. 

Tony was pulled out out of his thoughts by Peter giving a shudder and wrapping his arms around himself.

”Are you okay?” Tony asked.

“I have a headache,” Peter said. ”I'm fine.”

Tony noticed that Peter was pale, his expression slightly pinched. This close, Tony could see that his hands were a bit unsteady, his dark eyes reddened, and the way he huddled into his sweater suggested that he felt chilled in a room that was almost too hot for Tony's liking. Softly, carefully, he said, ”One to ten.”

Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. ”It was a six, this is just … it's getting better. Calming down.” He turned to Tony and his face was dead-earnest. Tony sometimes thought somebody so young shouldn't be able to look like this. He'd seen that expression on Peter's face way too often. ”I'm not seeing that Avengers doctor. Not even to just have a look. It's part of Spider-Man and it's just acting up, that's all.”

”It has thrown you out whack two times already. I'm not having that again.”

Peter crossed his arms and ducked his head, not answering. The problem was an instinct, a kind of sixth sense, that had taken Peter a few weeks to feel confident enough to confess to Tony. He'd described it as an instinct that would flare up when danger was headed his way, triggering a response that worked like muscle memory. Peter oftentimes didn't even know where the danger was coming from while his body already evaded it. It had saved his life a handful of times and it had helped him hold his own against some very powerful Avengers. But it had its downsides, too, and they'd kept popping up more often recently. 

The night May had died had been the first time Tony had witnessed it. The intensity of the headache had went to a crippling nine out of ten on the pain scale. Tony had found Peter huddled in the bathroom, sick and scared. Peter had told him that had been the first time for it to be that bad, but had later admitted that he'd experienced it more weakly a few times before. Never during a fight, which led him to believe that it only got this bad when the danger was something vague his instinct couldn't fight off as easily as a knife. 

After May's death, Peter had suffered headaches for several days and only leaving the noisy city behind to find some quiet at the Avengers Facility had calmed the uproar down gradually. It didn't seem to be necessarily dangerous, but Tony would feel more comfortable if a doctor would confirm that. 

The problem was that Peter seemed to have trust issues with doctors. He'd stopped asking why Peter was so scared of a doctor even _looking_ at him. He didn't think he had the right to dig. 

“Just ...” Tony swallowed. “I don't like it.”

Peter looked at him. ”I know.”

Tony nodded. ”Just think about it. I trust her completely and it would be on your terms.” Peter's fingers tightened around his arms and Tony took it as a sign that he'd gone far enough. He turned back to the screens. “So,” he asked, nodding at the schematics, “thoughts?”

***

_”You owe me.”_

_Peter kicked out instinctively, trying to get the weight bearing down on him away, trying to dislodge the hand closed around his throat. Stones sliced into his skin and water dripped into his eyes. His foot hit its target, throwing the shadow looming over him in the near-darkness of the riverbank backwards, but before Peter could scramble to his feet and run – he wanted to run and never look back –, he was grabbed and slammed down again, fingers twisting in his hair and something cold and sharp pressing against his cheek._

_”If you try that again, I'll slit your throat.”_

Peter woke to darkness with a start, gasping for breath, feeling tears run down his face. He brushed a hand over his cheek to rid himself of the feeling of cold steel digging into the skin. ”Lights,” he said, his voice sounding weak and panicky. ”Lights, lights, lights.”

_”Good morning, Peter,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted while his bedroom became brighter gradually in answer to his request, keeping the amount of light low to allow his eyes to adjust. _”It is 6:25. You have five more minutes if you would like to go back to sleep. School will start at quarter past eight.”_

Peter groaned, feeling his shirt stick to his chest and back, his forehead clammy and his heartbeat only slowly calming down.

_”I need verbal confirmation,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. 

He sighed deeply and brushed a hand through his hair. ”I'm getting up.” He fished his phone from the nightstand and checked his messages blearily. There was one from Ned, sent a few minutes ago. 

_I forgot. I'm an idiot._

He opened a text box to answer but didn't know what to say. He knew Ned hadn't meant anything by forgetting their Skype session. Peter hadn't even sent a text to remind him. It had hurt but it hadn't been meant as a slight. 

He tapped out, _Sorry, forgot as well_. His fingers hovered over the buttons for a moment before he added, _See you tonight?_

He went to brush his teeth and take a shower, finding several answers when he returned. When he read the first one, he froze and his heart sank. 

_Can't make it. Sorry._ A few minutes later, another message had come. _There's this thing with some guys from school._ Then, a minute after that. _Don't be mad._

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and typed _That's cool_ , his fingers hovering over the _Send_ button. 

Another message from Ned arrived in that moment. _I wanted to ask you to come but they said no._

Peter stared at the message, then he deleted his own. 

_Sorry_ , Ned added. _But they say that you're not one of us anymore and my mom wants me to make other friends that I don't just see through Skype, so I **have** to go._ A pause. _I don't agree with them._

For just a moment, Peter wanted to be petty, wanted to answer _I'm not one of you anymore because my family is dead and nobody wanted to step in but him_ … but he didn't, because it wasn't Ned's fault and because he knew how it was to have a mother pushing you out the door because she thought you were getting isolated. It still hurt, though, to know that he was losing it – his last connection to who he used to be. 

He didn't care about Tony's money. He felt ashamed of it actually, all the things that he theoretically could afford now that May was gone. 

He'd rather have her back. 

_Are we on for Friday?_ he asked. 

The answer came quickly, as if Ned had been waiting. _Sure thing, Pete._

Peter hoped that was true.


	3. Chapter 3

**NOW**

 

Tony curled his fingers around Peter's, swallowing at how slack and cold they felt. He stepped closer to the bed hesitantly, finding some comfort in the soft beeping of the machines and the lines crawling over the screens. Peter was alive and he was recovering and he would probably even be awake right now if he wouldn't have been drugged into submission.

The lights in the hospital room had been set to low and it was still dark outside, so the window didn't provide much additional illumination. It was a welcome relief for Tony's tired eyes after the harsh lights of the waiting room and the corridor, but the gentle glow did nothing to soften the sight of Peter's injuries. One wrist was encased in a cast and what Tony could see of the fingers of that hand was mottled with bruises. His eyes strayed to Peter's face, over the nasal cannula that was supposed to help him get enough oxygen to the bruise running down his temple and over his cheek, the cut on his forehead that had been stitched, the split, swollen lip. Lighter bruising lay around Peter's throat, the discolorations standing out prominently against Peter's pale skin. Tony felt nauseous even thinking about how much damage the blanket and the hospital gown were covering up. Peter was breathing, but other than that, he was utterly and uncharacteristically still, looking fragile and faded.

Tony swallowed a lump in his throat. ”Peter ...” There was no reaction, not even a twitch. Tony squeezed Peter's fingers gently, hoping to see the slightest indication that Peter was struggling back to the surface, but he remained passive. ”Just don't ...” He swallowed the word 'die', clearing his throat awkwardly. ”Don't do anything stupid.” 

He looked around when the door opened, letting bright lights and noise into the room. Jillian smiled at Tony as she closed the door and shrugged out of her wet coat. “Hey, Tony. I came as fast as I could.”

He nodded and stepped forward to take her hand in greeting. ”Thank you.”

”Sure.” Jillian McKenzie and Tony had known each other for years. They'd met while she'd been working as a medical officer for S.H.I.E.L.D. and had been tasked with the job to check on the Avengers after the battle of New York. It hadn't taken long for her to become the unofficial doctor of the team and after S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen, Tony had taken her on to work on-call for the Avengers. 

These days, she was splitting her time between writing for medical publications and her work in a private practice in central Manhattan. She was one of the few doctors Tony trusted implicitly, though his relationship with her went much deeper. She'd seen Tony at his lowest after Pepper had left him, finding him drunk and miserable in the penthouse after he'd missed a check-up and several phone calls. He'd kissed her that night, acting on what he'd thought was an underlying attraction towards each other. Jillian had seemed like the cure for his heartache: smart, beautiful and always dressed impeccably elegant in nuances of cream and white complimenting her dark complexion. Once he'd sobered up the next morning, he'd been glad that she'd stopped him, gently but insistently. She'd never mentioned it again, but Tony's respect for her had only increased after that.

Jillian took the clipboard from the end of the bed and read over it quickly, one hand brushing her dark hair behind her ear. ”Right,” she said and stepped closer to Peter, checking his IV-bags. ”Has he woken up at all?”

“No. They said the sedatives they usually give weren't working, so they gave him something stronger.”

“Yeah, you bet,” she answered. “His mutation might have given them trouble. It's not unusual even for weak healing factors to build up a body's resistance against drugs.” She frowned at the file. “His blood work looks clear. His mutation isn't showing.”

“Natasha was here,” Tony replied. “She said she was going to take care of it.”

Jillian raised one eyebrow at the file. “I'm not even going to ask.” She put the clipboard down and pressed one hand against Peter's forehead, as if checking for fever. “Hey, Peter,” she said softly. “I've heard so much about you.”

Tony grimaced. “Better don't mention that.”

Peter would be angry if he knew that Tony had talked to Jillian about his abilities a few days ago. It had been in absolute confidence, with Jillian promising not to keep any records about what Tony had told her, and he'd felt guilty afterwards ... but he'd been worried. Most of the time, Peter was fine. Other times, though, not so much, even though the headaches had remained mediocre in intensity. An attack as vicious as the one the night May had died hadn't happened again. However, Tony had started to wonder whether Peter's irregular sleeping pattern – the late nights, the early mornings and the afternoon naps – was connected as well. Jillian hadn't excluded that possibility, but had refused to give a definitive answer without talking to Peter and examining him. With Peter turning that idea down every time Tony brought it up, he wasn't any closer to an answer.

Jillian gave a sigh. “He's in good hands, Tony. There's nothing more I can do for him right now.”

”I called you because I need your help getting him out of here.”

“Because of his healing factor?”

”I don't know how fast he can heal from something like this. Minor injuries aren't a big deal. They're gone within twenty-four hours. I just ... I want to make sure that there are no questions. His healing factor isn't great, but it's noticeable.”

Jillian nodded thoughtfully. ”Okay. Healing factors usually prioritize by injury. The GSWs and the resulting injuries will be targeted first. That is, once Peter regains a bit of strength. Because of the massive blood loss, they gave him transfusions. His healing factor will have to spread through the new blood cells first and gather energy reserves to start the healing process. If he remains stable in the next twenty-four hours and regains consciousness, I can approach his doctors about moving him to a private clinic within the next three days.”

”Not a clinic, the Tower.”

”Well, I can't tell them _that_ ,” she replied, crossing her arms, ”but yes. I can be on stand-by for a few days, just in case something comes up, but if you make sure he stays in bed or on the couch and rests, there shouldn't be a problem.”

Tony sighed in relief and brushed a hand down his face, rubbing his aching eyes. The tension that had built while he'd waited for news during Peter's surgery was slowly fading and left exhaustion in its wake. He wanted to lie down and sleep, but the desire to remain with Peter until he woke up was bigger. He eyed the chair next to the bed, which didn't look comfortable enough to sleep or even nap.

“You look like hell,” Jillian said softly, stepping closer. “Are you alright?”

“Always,” he answered automatically.

She put a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently, her dark eyes catching his. “He'll be okay, Tony. The worst is over.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and swallowed against the pressure of tears in his throat.

Jillian's expression melted into one of sympathy. “Tony.”

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head. “It shouldn't affect me this much.”

“Whoever told you that is wrong. You care about Peter, Tony, that is actually a good thing.”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, calming down a bit.

Jillian smiled at him. “How have his migraines been?”

“Constant. We assume that the guys attacking us have been trailing Peter and me for a few days, so he could've reacted to that, but ... still. This ... danger-sense is only supposed to go off when there's an immediate threat.”

She shook her head. “ _Supposed to_? You can't know that, Tony. He can't know that. Peter's a teenager, so the sense could still be developing. Maybe it's a symptom of another mutation. You can't know for sure how this is _supposed_ to work.”

“That's how it worked before May died.”

“Maybe the rules have changed. Maybe the death of his aunt has kicked something loose. Some mutations are triggered by stress. You should try and talk to him again, convince him to let me have a look.”

Tony shook his head.

“Look,” Jillian continued, “he's going to get to know me over the next few days. I'll do check-ups once he's back at the Tower. Once he starts to trust me, he might change his mind.”

Tony wasn't convinced. “Let's see.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

Peter didn't move.

Tony took a sip of his coffee and waited, the car radio turned so low that he could barely hear what was being played. He could see the school gates from here, several paths leading through a carefully kept stretch of grass and trees from the parking lot to the high iron gates separating modern Manhattan skyscrapers from the old-fashioned buildings of the school. The words _Rochester Academy_ were engraved on the sand-colored stone of the main building, just visible over the wall surrounding the premises protectively.

The morning was clouded, but the sun managed to peek through every once in a while, and in its light, Rochester Academy looked almost peaceful.

Peter was quiet this morning, staring out the car window as they'd weaved through traffic. Now, he was looking out the windshield at the school, his seatbelt already unfastened. The first students were arriving, getting out of the cars dropping them off and crossing the grass to the gate. A Security guard was standing near the entrance, checking the school IDs and keeping a watchful eye out.

Tony looked at Peter's fingers twisting into the sleeves of his jacket, the denim frayed at the edges and soft from use. The bruise on his face had faded to an ugly blueish yellow, still much too visible. The cut had closed, a faint scar healing slowly.

Clearing his throat, Tony shifted in his seat to face Peter. ”There's another school a few blocks down the road. They focus on athletics, but I don't think that would be a problem for you and you don't necessarily need Rochester to apply for MIT.”

Peter looked at him.

”You've got alternatives,” Tony added. ”Just say the word.”

”Is it private or public?”

Tony sighed. ”Peter, I want the best possible education for you.”

”Public schools aren't _that_ bad. Kids from public schools go to university. To MIT.”

”It's also a matter of security, Peter.” He cleared his throat. ”Listen, I know it's hard. I know this is new and possibly a bit daunting and … different.” Peter ducked his head, but Tony continued, ”It's necessary. Should the adoption go through, you will be one of them, whether you like it or not, and you need to … network. Form relationships and connections.” He waited until Peter looked at him again. ”It doesn't have to be _this_ school, though.” Glancing at the dashboard clock, he realized he was probably going to be late for the meeting with Pepper and the new head of the R &D. The Tower wasn't far, but driving through rush hour would take time.

Peter was still sitting in the passenger seat, staring at the school gate and deep in thought. Tony nudged him gently. ”I could call you in sick. Take a day, let's do some research into schools together, try to find a viable alternative … have pizza and watch _Back to the Future_.” 

”Again?” Peter asked and the corners of his lips tugged upwards a bit. 

Tony smiled at him. ”You love those movies.”

”They're basically my life,” Peter answered, humor now entering his dark eyes. He suddenly seemed more relaxed and open and Tony wondered what he'd done right … and what he was doing wrong the rest of the time. ”It's about a teenager and a moody old scientist. I can relate to that.”

Tony snorted a laugh. ”So, yes or no?”

Peter seemed to think about it, but then he shook his head. ”It's fine.”

”Are you sure?” Tony asked. 

Peter nodded but he still made no move to get out of the car, his face becoming pensive again. Tony decided to give him a push and leaned over to open the door for him, freezing when he found Peter's arms coming around his chest, his fingers twisting into Tony's t-shirt.

”Okay,” Tony said. ”This isn't a hug, I'm just grabbing the door for you.”

”Oh,” Peter said, quickly letting go of him, but Tony shook his head and pressed him close with a hand between Peter's shoulder blades. Peter's grip strengthened again and Tony was pulled into an awkward, slightly uncomfortable position but he didn't let it show. Peter wasn't usually one to initiate physical contact, at least not with Tony. Judging by what little he'd seen of Peter and May's interactions, he knew that May had been affectionate quite frequently and Peter probably missed it, maybe even subconsciously. He'd returned the two hugs Tony had given him up until now without hesitation, as if he was afraid Tony would pull away before Peter could get his share. However, both situations had left Tony insecure and awkward. Pepper had said once that Tony didn't hug to comfort, he pulled out his credit card or invented a gadget. It had been a scathing remark that had fallen during a fight in which Tony had been just as mean, but it had stuck because, deep down, he knew it was true. 

He finished the hug by actually opening the passenger door and Peter let go of him reluctantly.

”I'll be here to pick you up.”

Peter nodded, grabbing his backpack from between his feet.

”Good luck out there, kid,” Tony said as Peter left and took the small smile he was given as a victory.

***

It hit Peter like a slap. 

One moment, he was walking across the grass towards the school gate, rummaging around his backpack for the school ID, the next a blinding pain shot through his head, pounding in his temples and sending a shiver down his spine. He froze, his muscles tensing, and then turned on the balls of his feet to look up at a window on the seventh floor of one of the office buildings across the street. 

_**There.** _

He stared. 

Peter could see nothing more than a dark silhouette behind one of the windows, half-hidden by the glare of the sun against the glass. Peter didn't how, he had no idea how it was even possible, but he _knew_ who he was looking at, as if his danger-sense was able to _recognize_ that they'd faced this particular brand of danger before – deadly, but only if provoked. 

_”If you try that again, I'll slit your throat.”_

“It's _you_ ,” Peter whispered. ”How-” 

”Peter!”

He turned to Tony, who had left the car and was looking at him strangely. 

”What's wrong?”

Peter looked back up at the window, but the shadow was gone. ”I ...” He swallowed. 

He couldn't tell Tony. He couldn't be sure it was _him_. 

_“If you try that again, I'll slit your throat.” The sharp blade dug into his cheek, leaving behind a shallow cut._

_Peter held still, scared and aching. He was slightly dizzy, uncoordinated, nauseous … whatever they had given him hadn't worn off yet._

_”Fucking hell,” the man growled, leaning closer and staring at Peter in the flickering lights of the raging fire. ”You're just a baby.”_

_Peter realized then that his face was bare. The features of the man holding him down, though …_

”Peter?” 

A hand touched his shoulder and he stepped out of reach before he realized it was Tony, who had come up beside him. ”What?”

”Peter, are you okay?”

”I'm fine. I ...” He stuck his hand into his backpack and his fingers closed around the ID the students at Rochester had to show upon entry. ”Thought I forgot my ID,” he said, holding it up with a wan smile.

”Peter,” Tony said. He knew he was lying.

”I need to go,” Peter replied quickly. ”I have to … I'll be late.”

Tony looked at him with a frown, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. ”Okay,” he said finally. ”I'll see you later.”

”See you later,” Peter answered and turned away.


	4. Chapter 4

**NOW**

 

The blond reporter was standing on the roof of a skyscraper, her coat buttoned up against the cold fall morning air, Avengers Tower looming far enough away to allow a perfect view of the illuminated _A_ on the side of the building. The early morning sun was just starting to color the sky a watery orange-yellow, creating the perfect backdrop to the reporter's earnest narration of one of the worst nights in Tony's life.

_“What happened is that last night, at around ten, Iron Man himself entered the Emergency Room of Manhattan General Hospital, bringing in a patient who eye witnesses were able to identify as 15-year-old Peter Parker. Even though no official confirmation has been made, videos and pictures taken at the scene imply that the Queens Orphan was hurt badly. His condition can surely be described as critical.”_

The image narrowed, the reporter now only visible on half the screen, while the news anchor in the studio took over the other half. His dark hair was slicked back, his suit immaculate. A picture of Tony hovered to the left of him, red letters beneath announcing an _Attack on Avengers Tower_. _”Those pictures have made the round on social networks all night, kicking off various rumors. One of them, claiming that the Queens Orphan is in fact dead, has spread quite quickly. We sure hope that you can negate those rumors.”_

_”Definitely, Larry. While nobody at the hospital was willing to go into detail about Peter Parker's condition, we do have confirmation that he is still alive.”_

_”And do we know anything about the circumstances, Sharon?”_

_”Apparently, we are looking at a home invasion into Tony Stark's penthouse. Stark himself was attending a charity event when it happened, so we can assume that Peter was alone and defenseless against what was without a doubt a group of very brutal criminals. We can't even begin to speculate about whether these events were aimed at Stark Industries and Tony Stark or Iron Man and the Avengers. The police confirmed that the investigations are on-going.”_

Larry nodded. _”To remind everyone of the situation at hand, Peter Parker is the teenager Tony Stark has applied to adopt two months ago. If you disregard various unconfirmed statements made by former neighbors to the tabloid press, hardly anything is known about the Queens Orphan. Stark has kept Peter away from the media and refuses to answer any questions in relation to the adoption or Peter himself. The announcement that Stark intends to adopt has found supporters but also opponents, who think that an Avenger lives too dangerous a life to be given responsibility over a minor.”_ He paused for effect. _”Critics have certainly found encouragement after last night's events. As the adoption is still in progress, Tony Stark might have to worry about the outcome-”_

Tony switched off the tv and leaned forward in the chair, brushing his hands through his hair. He looked at Peter, who still hadn't moved. “Media perception will not have an influence on the outcome of the adoption,” he said, echoing what Joel had told him several times already. He knew he didn't have the perfect track record. Even without Iron Man, without the money he'd earned selling weapons … his cellphone ringing snapped him out of his thoughts and he checked the display of his phone, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Pepper's name. 

He retreated to the corner of Peter's room to answer with a sigh of relief. ”Pepper.” 

_”Tony? What's going on?”_ She sounded like she had cried. 

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. ”You heard?”

_”Heard? Stark Industries Facebook page exploded, Tony. There's people all over the world asking about the attack. The press department's been telling me that it's all over the local news in New York, they're expecting it to make national and international tabloids.”_

”They want me to make a statement?”

 _” **Everyone** wants you to make a statement, Tony. Iron Man's kid might **die**.”_ He heard her choke on the last words and she took a breath, trying to calm down. _”He's not ...?”_

”No,” he answered. ”He's going to be okay.”

She was quiet for a moment and when she talked again, she sounded more collected and determined. _”I'm coming back.”_

He checked his watch, did a quick calculation. ”But you've only just landed.”

 _”Paris can wait,”_ she answered. _”It's a family emergency.”_

”You don't need to come back.”

 _”Yes, I do.”_ Her voice didn't allow for any further argument, so Tony stopped. 

He rubbed his eyes, still so tired. But he felt like he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he would go home. He wouldn't be able to sleep until Peter woke up.

_”Tony, how's Peter?”_

”He's … he's out of surgery. He hasn't really woken up yet.”

 _”I saw the pictures,”_ Pepper said. _”He looked … bad. I thought ...”_

”Yeah.” There was a moment, back in the penthouse, where he'd thought the same. 

_“Who?”_

”We don't know. I mean, the guys who did it were probably just hired by somebody else.”

_”And they … Peter was alone with them?”_

”Yes.” 

_”How long?”_

”About forty minutes.”

Pepper was quiet for a long moment. 

Tony felt like a failure, felt like he had to explain. ”I was half-way across the city and I didn't have a suit. Natasha was closer but she … the Tower was locked down and override took a while.” He released a shuddering breath. ”This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't grounded him.”

_”Tony-”_

”It's true.”

_”You can't feel guilty for that.”_

”I can,” he answered, looking at Peter. “I am.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

“You framed this?” Gareth asked. 

Pepper glanced up at him from her laptop for a moment, recognizing immediately which picture he'd taken off her desk to look at. 

It was Tony, dressed casually in a band t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans, sunglasses pushed up into his dark hair. Peter was walking right next to him in his blue hoodie and a gray t-shirt, showing Tony something on his phone while he looked up at him expectantly. Tony was smiling, relaxed and happy. 

The picture was a bit grainy due to the zoom used, Pepper knew, the sunlight glinting off the office buildings behind them not counteracted properly. 

A picture taken in a hurry. 

However, it had caught both of them completely unguarded and while it wasn't the only picture of them anymore, it was still the only one that did them justice. Pepper had printed it off and put it in a frame for that very reason. “Yes, I liked it,” she admitted, getting up from the couch situated in the corner of her office and joining Gareth at the large desk. 

The windows had darkened automatically to fend off the morning sun's glare, but she could still see New York stretched out around her, though the colors were slightly muted. She could also see a storm front rolling in, dark clouds gathering in the distance, estimating it would hit around noon. She wondered whether Peter had taken a rain jacket to school. She knew Tony wouldn't have thought of it, so Peter probably hadn't … in some ways, they were strikingly similar. The thought made her smile.

She brushed her thumb along the edge of the frame. “It's a good picture.”

”The Daily Bugle, right?”

She nodded. The shot had been taken when Tony had picked Peter up at Rochester two weeks ago and it had been published in the Daily Bugle the next morning, renewing the interest in Tony's adoption plans. The media had calmed down a bit while Peter and Tony had stayed at the Avengers Facility and nobody had seemed to really notice at first that they'd returned to New York at the beginning of the new school year. 

Until this picture had been published. 

Since it had been the first picture anyone had been able to take of Peter, it had garnered quite a lot of attention. Pepper knew that Tony hated it because it meant that Peter had lost his anonymity. It hadn't taken long for the tabloids to find out his name, former address and a few neighbors willing to go into details about Peter's tragic family history. Pepper knew Peter had read the articles and she knew that Tony had as well. 

He'd wanted to sue, Pepper had stopped him. 

It was better for them not to attract any additional attention while the adoption was on-going. They'd issued an official statement instead, asking for privacy. 

Up until now, it had worked. 

The door to her office swung open and Tony strode in. She noticed gratefully that he was dressed in a suit, though he was wearing an AC/DC t-shirt instead of a formal button-down. She knew him long enough to know that this half-casual appearance and the tardiness were a message in itself. She'd expected nothing less. He'd been against hiring Gareth from the start. Stark Industries and Oscorp had a history … or rather, Tony and Norman did. 

”Miss Potts,” her assistant Alexander said, entering hurriedly after Tony, ”Mr. Stark is here to see you.” He flushed, embarrassed about his belated announcement, and brushed one hand through his short dark hair, making it stick up in stressed little tufts. ”Should I … show him in?”

Pepper sighed and stepped away from Gareth, not failing to notice Tony frowning at how close they'd been standing. ”That's alright, Alex.”

Tony held out his travel mug expectantly. ”I'll have coffee, thank you.”

Alex fumbled with the mug and gave a nervous smile. ”Of course, Tony … Mr. Stark! Sorry. I ...” His young face pulled into a grimace and he sighed, defeated, as he left.

”How could you hire _that_?” Tony asked.

”He's a good assistant, Tony.” Pepper would never tell him, but Alex was only this flustered when Tony was around. He seemed to have a massive crush on him. 

”I didn't mean Alex,” Tony replied and smiled at Gareth.

”Tony,” Pepper said and made sure to brush close by him as she returned to the seating arrangement in the corner of her office. ”Manners.” 

Gareth set the picture down and ignored Tony's words. ”I hope Peter is feeling better today,” he said, approaching Tony with a hand outstretched in greeting. ”Mr. Stark, it's an honor.”

Tony hesitated but he finally accepted the handshake. 

Pepper said, ”This is Gareth Olson. He's heading the R&D department now.”

”I'm sorry for being so forward and I'm aware that this is a private matter,” Gareth continued as he settled onto the couch next to Pepper, leaving Tony no choice but to take a seat opposite them on the other side of the low coffee table, ”but he seemed a bit down during dinner yesterday.”

”Peter's fine,” Tony said defensively. 

While Gareth settled back, Tony shot Pepper a look. _'Dinner?'_ he mouthed. She nodded, crossing one leg over the other. ”I thought it would be nice for Peter to continue his internship and Gareth offered.”

”How nice,” Tony said with a fake smile. Alex entered and set Tony's travel mug down. ”Thank you, Alex.” Pepper thought Alex would faint right then and there, but he managed a nod and made it out of the office. Tony cleared his throat. ”So … Pepper sent me your CV, Mr. Olson. Very impressive.” 

”I'm glad you think so,” Gareth answered. 

Tony looked at him, tapping his fingers on the armrest of the couch. Pepper sent him a warning look. He hummed pensively. ”Why did you accept the job offer from Stark Industries?”

Gareth smiled. ”I know that you disagree with me being here. Pepper informed me about your reservations regarding my qualifications.”

”No, I think you are highly qualified,” Tony said. ”I disagree with where you worked before.”

”That's a shame, considering that Oscorp helped turning me into the man you were looking for.”

”You sound grateful.”

”I am.”

”Why are you leaving them for Stark Industries then?”

”A change of scenery is sometimes required,” Gareth answered. ”Besides, they couldn't offer me a higher position. Stark Industries could.”

Pepper leaned forward to intervene. ”Tony, the reason for this meeting is that Gareth came to me with an interesting idea.”

Gareth nodded. ”I know the head of Oscorp's R&D rather well. We were talking the other day and found that there is a potential both companies have wasted up until now.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. ”And what would that be?”

”Joint projects,” Gareth answered. ”Stark Industries is leading expert in engineering, green energy and robotics. Oscorp is the leading expert in bio-engineering, genetic research and medical appliances. Some projects that are currently in the pipeline within both companies would benefit from a joint-venture.”

Pepper saw Tony's eyes darken and quickly added, ”We're talking a small pool of scientists who would work together. Just juniors and some student interns to start it off. Small-scale projects.”

Gareth nodded in agreement. ”It could grow into more once some trust has been built. I know you and Norman Osborn aren't the best of friends-”

”That's one way to put it,” Tony said, ”and my answer is no.”

”Tony,” Pepper said. 

He shook his head. ”You don't know that guy like I do.”

”I get you were rivals when you just started out leading your respective companies-”

” _Rivals_? _His_ company stole _my_ company's staff.”

”And _your_ company stole _his_ ,” she replied. 

Tony glared at her. “He tried to steal _you_.”

”Sometimes, I regret not taking him up on the offer.”

He frowned at her and she sighed, sorry for having said that. She hadn't meant it.

“Come on, Tony. You've both grown. You're both responsible adults now.” She shrugged. “Most of the time, at least.” 

Tony crossed his arms.

Gareth cleared his throat. ”If it helps any, my friend pitched the idea to Norman Osborn yesterday. He was interested.” 

Pepper nodded. ”At least meet with him one time before dismissing this entirely out of hand. I know you're both going to that charity thing on Friday. You could take Gareth and … talk. Keep an open mind. That's all I'm asking.”

He turned his head away, looking towards the windows, his expression thoughtful.

”You know,” Gareth said. ”You might just find that you have more in common with Norman than you think. He has a kid as well, around Peter's age.”

”I know Harry,” Tony said and Pepper nodded. She knew Harry as well, though the last time she'd seen him, he'd been around ten years old, sitting alone at a table during an award dinner and sullenly waiting for his father to finish chatting with the mayor. He'd been in the papers quite a few times a couple of years ago, expelled from boarding schools and arrested for drunk driving, though he was too young for both alcohol and a license. She knew he was probably just acting up, having lost his mother at such a young age and dealing with a father who put business before everything else – even his own son. Pepper liked Norman Osborn but, just like Tony, he had his flaws and his emotional distance to his only son was one of them.

“Fine”, Tony said. ”Okay.” 

Pepper smiled happily. ”Wonderful. I think this is going to be great.” 

***

Peter slapped his history book shut when he realized that he'd read the same paragraph for the third time and it still didn't make sense to him. He was too distracted. With chilled fingers, he zipped his hoodie and then the old denim jacket closed against the cool September breeze. It smelled like a storm was coming, the air stirring. The sun did little to warm him as he sat tucked away at one of the tables in the corner of the schoolyard, the stone bench leeching warmth out of him. He preferred it to sitting inside, though. He was almost alone out here and nobody paid him any mind. 

Most of them probably didn't even notice him. 

His headache had started to pound more insistently since the morning, the base of his skull aching, and he couldn't shake the feeling of eyes following his every move, even though it was impossible. Rochester Academy isolated itself from the city and curious eyes with high walls and locked gates. Nobody but staff and relatives to the students were able to enter without a valid reason. 

He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to find relief.

_There was blood on Peter's suit, staining the blue dark, feeling warm and sticky against his skin. He scrambled back, away from the dead eyes staring at him in the flickering neon lights, away from the blood._

_There was a loud bang, a noise that made the concrete walls shudder and the steel beams creak and then there was the heat of fire against Peter's exposed face. He struggled to his feet, backwards, unable to look away from the dead – two, maybe three people, it was so hard to tell –, one hand pressed against his mouth as if that would help to hold the nausea at bay._

_They were all dead._

_A shadow rushed past him and he turned clumsily, stumbling and catching himself against the wall, the sedatives (tears?) causing his vision to swim and the heat (sobs?) making it difficult to breathe._

_A hand closed over his shoulder and then he was falling, murky water closing in around him, over him, under him … Peter tried to swim to the surface but he wasn't even sure where it was … a strong hand grabbed him and he gulped in air as they broke the surface ... sharp stones slicing into his palms when he crawled onto the riverbank, a kick to his ribs flipping him to lay on his back, fingers closing around his throat._

_”You owe me.”_

”Hey, Stark!”

He stared at the stone surface of the table as if he hadn't heard Sullivan and his friends approaching. Tension crept into his shoulders.

”Stark,” Sullivan repeated, directly behind him. 

It happened so fast that Peter barely realized he was moving before it was over. 

There was a _flash_ of pain in the back of his neck, like something _coming loose_. His body moved around, turning in one fluent motion: his hands braced against the cold stone of the table, giving him leverage to press one of his feet against Sullivan's chest and push him backwards into the arms of his two friends, effectively stopping the hand that had tried to make a grab for his shoulder. With the same move, he jumped to stand, his shoulders squared and his feet planted securely. His fingers curled against his palms and there was a moment of _surprise, panic, fear_ when he couldn't find the trigger for the web-shooters … before he remembered why. 

It was the first time he missed them since May had died, the first time he'd used his powers to defend himself when not wearing the suit. 

The feeling of being watched still hummed an ache against his temples and his head moved, his gaze drawn upwards towards one of the skyscrapers nearby. 

_**There.** _

_Him_ again. _“You're just a baby.”_

Right there behind the windows, _watching_ him … 

Sullivan's voice pulled his attention back to him. “Shit, you really _are_ a freak.” He looked just a tiny bit impressed, one of his friends looked closer to scared … and Peter realized what he'd done. 

He couldn't believe how stupid he was, how dangerously close he'd come to go further … because that _spark_ just underneath the skin of his nape kept zinging painfully, demanding to _move, fight, defend, run_ … he couldn't! 

Peter swallowed, curling his hands tighter to hide them shaking, and then grabbed his backpack and book. He walked away from Sullivan and his friends, his steps getting faster until he almost broke out into a run.

”Fucking freak, just like your dad!” Sullivan yelled after him.

”He's not my dad,” Peter muttered, rounding a corner. He pushed the door open to enter the main building and turned sharply to the right, entering the library. He walked past the front-desk and to the very back, into the farthest corner, before he sank into a crouch and tried to breathe. 

He pressed his hands against his eyes and took deep breaths … and finally, he didn't feel like there were eyes on him, though his headache didn't abate. 

_He_ was still there, but he couldn't see Peter right now.

”You having a panic attack or something?”

Peter tensed.

”It would explain why you ignored me when I just ran after you like a crazy stalker.”

Peter opened his eyes and looked at ankle-high, red Converses with frayed laces, dark skinny jeans tucked into them. 

The teenager standing in front of him fell into a crouch as well. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a red sweater that had the fake washed-out and worn look people paid a lot of money for. He seemed to be around Peter's age, dark blond curls carefully arranged to fall into his forehead. His dark eyes met Peter's, though they didn't reflect the quirked smile he gave. ”Not to overuse pop culture references but,” he said and vaguely waved a hand at Peter, ”you're in my spot.” 

”Your spot?” Peter echoed.

”Yeah,” he answered. ”I usually sit there and feel miserable. This aisle has mainly maps and encyclopedias. Since Google maps and Wikipedia dropped, nobody uses this stuff anymore. So it's quiet and I can get shit done without Sullivan fucking with me.” He tilted his head. ”I guess you can relate.”

Peter unclenched his hands. ”Yeah,” he answered carefully. He searched the other's face for familiar features and he thought that he'd seen him around the school, maybe even shared one or two classes with him. 

”So,” he said as if they were in the middle of a long conversation that Peter had missed out on entirely, “physics.”

”Physics?” Peter asked.

”We're in the same course,” the other said. “And judging by what I've seen, I reckon that you're some kind of genius in that department. Can't cram that stuff into my head for the life of me. Got expectations to meet, though. Family crap, you know what I mean?”

”I ...” Peter frowned. ”I'm not sure?”

”What are you not sure about? That you're Beautiful Mind or that our families have unrealistic expectations?”

”I'm not ...” Peter huffed a breath and rubbed his forehead. A different kind of headache was starting to make itself known. “I don't have to meet unrealistic expectations.”

”So naive,” the other teenager said, dropping into a more comfortable position to stretch his legs out. ”Then again, Stark's only had you for a month or so, right? The novelty will wear off once you've passed the puppy stage and then it's all discipline and commands and showing you off. So, physics.”

”What about it?” Peter asked, getting irritated. 

”I need a tutor and there's a limited amount of people at this stupid school I'm gonna ask. You made the list and came out at the top. Mainly because you don't seem to be a complete douchebag. Congrats. So, yes or no?” 

Peter stared at him.

The other shrugged. ”I'll take that as a yes. I was thinking we could get together tomorrow. Is two alright?”

”Actually-”

”I'll pay you.” He shrugged. ”Isn't usually an incentive around here but you're from the Bronx so I thought you'd go for it.”

Peter frowned at him. ”I'm from Queens.”

”Same difference. So, tomorrow is alright for you?”

Peter sighed. He wanted to say no. He really did. But he knew Ben would have looked at him with disappointment. Lending a helping hand whenever he could had been important to Ben. It had been the reason he'd done most of the repairs in the neighborhood. May had sometimes told him he should ask for money, had joked they would be able to send Peter off to an ivy league university if he did. Ben had laughed and kissed her, but had never asked to be paid. ”Fine.” 

The other kid beamed, but again, the expression didn't reach his eyes. ”Awesome.” He held his phone out to Peter. ”Put your number in and I'll text you with mine.”

Peter tapped his name and number into the phone and handed it back. Only a moment later, his cellphone chimed.

”Peter Parker?” the other kid said. ”I thought it would be Stark.”

”Not yet.”

The other kid shrugged and got to his feet. ”See you tomorrow then, Pete.”

Peter got up as well. ”And you are?”

The other kid halted and turned back around to him. ”Right. New to our social circle. How rude of me.” He held out a hand. ”Nice to meet you.” He smiled. ”I'm Harry Osborn.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late posting this. Sorry.  
> This chapter gave me a hard time and then RL decided to join in, so I just finished this now, way past my bedtime. I'll try to be on time with the next one. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, by the way. They really make my day(s) at the moment. I'm rather insecure about this chapter, so I'm interested in what you think.

**NOW**

 

Tony closed the blinds to Peter's room, tired of watching rush hour starting to crawl past on the street below. He sipped his coffee, grimacing at the taste. Again, he was playing with the thought of asking the nurses whether he could get a mug from the machine at the nurse's station. They had to have one there. He couldn't imagine the hospital staff having to drink the vile vending machine stuff. 

There was a noise behind him, a cross between a cough and a groan and he whirled around, his hand quickly abandoning the cup on the window sill. ”Peter?” he asked, stepping up to the bed and grasping Peter's healthy hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. ”Peter,” he repeated, brushing limp hair out of his forehead as Peter's eyes fluttered open. 

Peter looked at him, his eyes swimming, his face pinched into an expression of pain. 

”It's going to be okay,” Tony said gently. ”You're going to be fine.”

Peter's eyes slid closed tiredly before they opened again, blinking rapidly. Some of the haze cleared, Peter struggling through the effects of the medication. Tony could make out an increase in Peter's heart rate, the machine beeping more rapidly. Peter whispered, ”Tony?” 

”Yes,” he said. ”You're okay, Peter.”

Peter released a breath, his heart rate going down again. ”... feels weird.”

”They've got you on pretty strong medication.” 

Peter didn't answer, his breathing evening out as he fell back asleep. Tony watched him for a few minutes, waiting for him to wake up again. When nothing happened, though, he released Peter's hand and tugged the blanket into place. “Be right back,” he said. 

Leaving Peter's room was like he was entering another world. 

The lights were brighter, making his eyes feel gritty and sore, and the noises of the hospital weren't muffled by the door anymore. Tony looked up and down the corridor, making sure that nobody was paying him any mind, before he walked to the nurse's station and leaned on the front-desk, catching the attention of a young nurse with short red hair and bright green eyes. ”Hello,” he said with a smile.

”Mr. Stark, what do you need?” she asked, sorting the file in her hand into a cabinet and stepping closer to him. 

”I've been wondering if you'd have a cup of coffee for me?”

”The vending machine is right down the hall.”

”Decent coffee. The good stuff you nurses make?” Tony said. He nodded towards the door behind her. ”You don't happen to have an actual coffee machine in there?”

She cleared her throat and suppressed a smile, barely. ”We do, actually.” She seemed to think about it and then sighed. ”Okay, stay right here.”

He checked her name tag. ”Anything for you, Nurse Franklin.” While he waited, he checked his messages by instinct, looking up when she cleared her throat and set a mug onto the front-desk. 

”You know cellphones are not really allowed in here, right?”

”It's shielded,” he said. 

Franklin raised an eyebrow.

”Putting it away,” he said and tucked the phone into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Taking the mug, he inhaled the scent of coffee and smiled happily. ”I appreciate this.” 

”You've had a rough night,” Franklin replied.

”I bet you see many people having those.”

”Not many as bad as yours. Some even worse.” She hesitated a moment and then turned to grab a plastic bag from near the computer. ”They sent this up from the ER,” she said, setting the bag down carefully. ”That's everything Peter on had on his person when they admitted him.”

He stared at the t-shirt Peter had been wearing yesterday, folded into the bag along with his jeans, socks and underwear. The blue cotton of the t-shirt was crusted dark with blood, three rips indicating where the bullets had hit. Scissors had cut through the image on the chest, Captain America's shield broken as a result.

”Is he a fan?” Franklin asked. 

Tony huffed a laugh. ”Yes,” he said. ”He kinda is.” His hand brushed over the plastic. “I don't think we need this anymore.” 

”You can get him a new one,” Franklin suggested. She winked at him. “I would have thought he'd be into Iron Man.”

Tony winced. ”He's not very fond of Iron Man at the moment.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. ”My son is sometimes not overly impressed with me as well. That's one of the privileges of being a parent, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrows in question.

She leaned forward, as if about to tell him a secret. ”We all get to be heroes, but we also all fall off that pedestal from time to time.” 

She turned away when another nurse called her name and left Tony standing, pondering her words. He finished the coffee and left the mug, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he made his way back to Peter's room. 

He'd had time to think over the last few hours, replaying the fight they'd had in his mind over and over again. There was no doubt that he'd fallen off that pedestal, the _look_ in Peter's eyes had been enough of an indicator. Even though Peter had tried to hide it the next day, had tried to act as if everything was okay, Tony knew that the damage was permanent. What he didn't know was what he could do about it. If anything _could_ be done about it. 

He startled when he heard a loud crash followed by a pained shout … coming from Peter's room. Tony started to run, shaking his head at a nurse rushing towards the room. ”I'll deal with it,” he said and slammed the door in her face. He knew it wouldn't stop anybody from entering, but he hoped that they'd at least wait until he'd figured out what was going on. 

He looked around. The heart monitor had crashed to the floor, its electrodes disconnected, the sound of it flatlining loudly filling the room. The IV-stand was lying next to it, dripping on the floor uselessly. The bed was empty and knocked askew, the blanket hanging half-way off, blocking Tony's view when he crouched to try and see if he could find Peter on the other side. 

He started to walk around the bed slowly, stopping short when he found him. 

Peter was cowering on the floor, probably where he'd fallen, cradling his broken wrist to his chest. The cast had been damaged, a crack running from his wrist to his elbow. Peter's eyes were wide and his breathing panicked as he looked up at Tony. ”No,” he whispered. ”Get 'way from me.”

Tony raised his hands and approached him carefully. ”Peter, it's okay ...” 

Peter moved, swiping Tony's legs out from under him. The impact with the floor winded him and he hit his head against the linoleum. Through the pained tears gathering in his eyes, he saw Peter crawling backwards. Yelping as he tried to put weight on his broken wrist, he used his feet to push himself away from Tony until his back hit the wall and then further, into the corner. He stumbled to his feet there and then, to Tony's horror, slapped his good hand against the wall and started to climb.

Tony forced himself to his feet and grabbed Peter around the waist, pulling him back. ”No, no, no,” he panted. ”Not here, come on.” He was sure it would have been harder for him to get Peter down if he hadn't been drugged and weakened, sluggish in his panic. Still, Peter was able to use his feet to push off the wall and managed to make Tony stumble and fall, his grip loosening. Peter scrambled to get away, but the move caused Tony's hand to slip and press against the gunshot wounds. Peter flinched and gasped in pain and Tony used the chance to secure his grip, pulling Peter back against his chest. “Stop it,” he snapped, feeling like a complete bastard just one second later but he knew that Peter would feel even worse about accidentally revealing his identity.

His harsh tone seemed to have an effect, though. Peter slumped in his grip, trembling, his breathing uneven and flat.

The door opened. 

Tony didn't even look at whoever was entering as he said, ”Don't. Wait.” He sat up, bringing Peter with him and tucking his head under his chin. 

Peter squirmed, trying to break Tony's hold, his healthy hand too shaky to get a proper grip on Tony and his broken hand too weak to do anything. Tony could feel that there was no fight left in him, the short bout of panic having depleted the little bit of energy he'd had. He was speaking, though, whispering brokenly the same words over and over again. ”Please, please, please don't, please ...”

Tony pressed him closer. ” _Underoos_.” 

Peter stilled. He remained tense, though. Tony could feel his fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, right above where the reactor used to be. Tony had told him about the scar the operation had left him with once, just visible when he wore his shirt unbuttoned. Peter's fingers were probably able to feel it even through the shirt with his enhanced senses. “Tony.” 

Relief flooded him. ”You're okay, Peter,” he said, and then, softer, ”You're Peter, you're _Peter_ right now.”

Peter made a noise that resembled a sob … and then he leaned _into_ Tony, fingers clinging to his suit jacket now and his head ducked into Tony's shoulder, and Tony slid his arm up around Peter's back automatically. ”Okay,” he said, looking up at the three nurses and two doctors that had gathered at the door. “You with me now?”

Peter curled up tighter, cradling his broken hand between them. ”They're dead,” he whispered. ”He killed 'em all.” 

”It's okay,” Tony said quickly, hoping that Peter had spoken too softly for anybody else to hear.

”Sorry.” Peter shuddered, his body going tense, and Tony threaded a hand through Peter's hair, cupping the back of his head. 

”You're okay.”

”'m so sorry.”

”It's okay.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold carefully. ”It's okay, Peter.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

When Tony entered the penthouse, she was sitting at the kitchen island, slicing an apple.

He froze, taken aback for a moment. She looked different, somehow - wearing tight jeans tucked into high-heeled combat boots and a white NYU top under a blue hoodie denim jacket - and yet achingly familiar in the way she was perched on the chair elegantly, as if she still belonged. As if she'd just woken up and got dressed and was enjoying a day off.

As if the others would join as well any minute now.

He reminded himself that she didn't - _couldn't_ \- belong anymore but it wasn't easy to be confronted with her this unexpectedly. He'd assumed that, if one of them would get in touch, it would be with a phone call, via text or e-mail. Some form of communication that allowed him to choose whether he wanted to answer.

Then again, Natasha had never been one for giving others much of a choice once she'd made up her mind about something.

He didn't know how to react, his emotions warring between indignation, anger, relief and joy. She didn't give him more time to figure it out, turning the chair to look at him. “Hi.”

“You're kidding me, right?” he asked, settling on indignation first. “How did you get in here?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Apparently, I still have access.”

“No, you don't,” he answered. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.!”

_“Yes, Boss?”_

“Why are you letting people access the penthouse who have no business being here?”

_“Miss Romanoff's access is still active.”_

“I definitely remember telling you to deactivate it.”

When F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, he thought she sounded slightly miffed. _“I found an entry matching your request on your to-do list, Boss.”_

Tony pulled a face, remembering. “Right. _That_ to-do list.” The one that he'd dictated to her in his anger shortly after Siberia and then put aside upon Rhodey's insistence to think about again when he'd be calmer. 

Too much had happened in the meantime that had distracted him from it. 

He cleared his throat, feeling caught. “Sorry, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

She didn't answer.

He felt chastened.

Natasha smiled. “Someone will be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Tony huffed an annoyed breath and strode into the kitchen niche, setting his travel mug down in the sink before he turned around to Natasha and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed.

She smiled gently. “It's good to see you, though, Tony. You look well.”

He shrugged, feeling petty for a moment. He wanted to say _'No thanks to you'_ , but he bit his tongue. If he was completely honest with himself, he was a bit relieved to see her, to know that she was alright. Things hadn't ended well between them when they'd last seen each other. He'd been hurt by her switching sides when it mattered and spiteful in the aftermath, feeling betrayed and abandoned. 

And while his anger at her hadn't been put out completely, it had started to feel like something he could overcome. 

Natasha had always been able to understand him better than the others, except maybe Rhodey, and she'd acted as a bridge and buffer between him and Steve more times than he could count. She'd also been the one to hand him evidence that Barnes had not been responsible for the bomb in Vienna before he'd pushed her away so cruelly, which made her the one who had almost managed to get him and Steve see eye to eye again in Siberia before … 

He took a breath and swallowed his snide remark, allowing himself a smile. “Well, you're stunning as always. New haircut?”

She brushed her fingers through her red hair, the strands a bit shorter, curlier. ”You like it?”

“It's good to see you, too, Nat.”

She settled into the chair a bit more comfortably, nodding at him, accepting the words for what they really were – the start of an apology. “How have you been?” she asked, sliding the plate with the apple slices towards the middle of the kitchen island. “Really.” 

Tony snagged a piece. ”Good,” he said, grimacing. “Well, considering. And you?”

”Good,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Considering.” 

Tony nodded. 

“How's the kid?” she asked, looking around again. 

”He's at school”, he answered her unasked question. “And he's ... good.” 

”Considering?” There wasn't much humor in her voice this time, her smile seeming a bit sharp.

“He's getting there,” Tony answered. “I think he's got trouble adjusting, he's being ...” He hesitated, not sure why he was even telling her that. He was willing to talk to her, he shouldn't rush right back into trusting her with everything. He shook his head. ”Nothing we can't handle.”

Natasha looked at him for a long moment, chewing slowly.

”What?” Tony asked.

”Nothing,” she answered. ”It's just … this place hasn't changed at all.”

He shrugged, unsure what to say to that. Natasha didn't seem to expect him to say anything, because she continued, ”Spidey's gone missing. It's all over local social media. There's even a hashtag, people trying to spot him, actively scouring his usual territory to look for him in alleyways and abandoned houses. The community is small but it's very active.”

Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. ”I know. I'm sure he knows. I stopped asking. The last thing he needs is to think that I expect him to put on the suit.” 

She raised an eyebrow. ”He still needs to sign the Accords, doesn't he? According to the new rules. There was a press conference on tv today. I was surprised you weren't there.”

Tony ducked his head. “I didn't ask for neighborhood vigilantes to be included and I certainly didn't ask for people to be included who are trying to live a normal life. You know why I signed, Nat, because you signed for the same reason. They were supposed to be different. To help the Avengers. Shift responsibility off our shoulders.” 

”Maybe that's not possible,” Natasha said. 

”We went in, made the hard decisions. Things broke and people died and they blamed us.” He swallowed. “It should _count_ for something that we were _trying_ to do the right thing.”

”Ducking away from responsibility is not why I signed. I signed because 117 nations wanted those Accords. There was no way for us to fight that without looking even more like villains. I thought complying would give us some influence.” She shook her head. ”I was wrong, apparently. If they don't listen to you … we need to find another way.”

”What for?” Tony asked with a shrug. “The Avengers only exist on paper.”

”At the moment, but that could change. If you'd just talk to Steve.”

Tony scoffed. ”There's a reason I'm not.”

”Tony, it has been long enough, don't you think? He learned his lesson and you learned yours. Just … get the warrants on them lifted.”

He crossed his arms. “I don't think so. Ross is hell-bent on getting all of them back to the Raft. He would never listen to me. He barely accepts me as a consultant, Nat, he thinks I helped Steve getting the others out.”

”We need to stick together,” she replied. “Steve _wants_ that.”

”I don't really care what _Steve_ wants.”

She frowned, clearly irritated now. ”What about Clint then? Scott? They've got kids here.”

”There's nothing I can do.”

”You're an _Avenger_.”

”And that doesn't count for anything anymore. The Avengers are over.”

Natasha stared at him, shaking her head. ”You don't believe that.”

Tony huffed a breath and rubbed his forehead.

”Do you?” she asked softly.

”I don't know. Nat, I just …” He swallowed. ”I just don't know.” He took a breath, thinking. ”If they'd sign the Accords now, we could maybe negotiate-”

”Please, Tony.” She shook her head. ”You think Steve was against the Accords before? He is definitely _now_.” She sighed. ”And the thing between you and Steve isn't about the Accords anyway, is it?” 

Tony didn't know what to say to that, so he just ducked his head and remained silent. Natasha fiddled with the knife. It was rare for her to display nervous gestures. Tony got an idea just how much the last few months must have chipped away at her as well.

”I can't help get the warrants lifted,” he said again. ”And maybe it's best to let the Avengers rest in peace. If we can't trust each other, what is it worth?”

”Is Iron Man resting in peace?” she asked. 

Tony felt a flare of anger at her words, even though he didn't know why. He'd asked himself the same question already – multiple times. ”Iron Man isn't needed. Tony Stark is. What happens if I die? It's not just me anymore. I've got a kid.”

”That's a nice excuse, isn't it?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in irritation, her hands balling to fists. Tony _knew_ how much the Avengers meant to her. He was probably the only person besides Clint who knew. 

That the Avengers were like a _family_ for Natasha. She didn't have anybody else. He used to be the same. 

He wasn't anymore, though.

”I have to put him first,” he said. ”I don't expect you to understand that.”

”He's capable of taking care of himself.”

”He's a _child_ , Nat.”

”Didn't bother you when you put him in the middle of a battlefield.”

”Nobody there was intent on killing.”

”Still.” 

He shook his head and started to walk away, heading for his workshop. ”Just leave.”

”Tony-”

”What?” he snapped, whirling around to her. ”What do you wanna tell me? That I'm a coward because I don't want him to lose another family? There is nobody else willing to step in and take him. I can't let him wind up at a place where nobody recognizes his potential. Do you have any idea how crippling it can be when nobody believes in you, especially at that age?!” He stared at her, his hands in tight fists, his eyes burning. 

Natasha nodded slowly. ”Yes,” she said, ”I do.” 

He knew she did. He _knew_. Whenever she talked about her childhood, she kept it vague but not too vague not to know that it had been tough and traumatizing and loveless. They had a lot in common. 

”I'm sorry,” she said. Tony knew it wasn't necessarily an apology for her words, not necessarily an apology for intruding. 

Just her telling him that she got how difficult his situation was. 

She wasn't one for many words. Somehow, Tony was still able to understand her. 

He released a breath, making an effort to relax his tense muscles. She was looking at him, waiting. Whatever he would say next, he knew, she would listen to. If he told her to go, she would leave. 

She wasn't one to beg, either.

He crossed his arms. ”I'm hungry.” His words were soft, an offer. 

Natasha shrugged. ”I could eat,” she replied, accepting.

***

“You okay?” Happy asked, sighing deeply when the lights switched to red. They were hardly any closer to the intersection than they'd been before, the mid-day rush hour crawling through Manhattan's streets at what seemed like snail's pace. 

Peter could have walked the distance to the Tower twice in the amount of time they'd needed for the way back until now. ”Yeah,” he answered. ”Fine.” He stared out the window, the rain drops turning the traffic jam into a blurry mixture of red lights, yellow cabs and gray buildings. 

”Really?” Happy asked, fiddling with the radio. “You don't look it.”

”I've got a headache.”

”Again?” 

Peter made a noise of confirmation. 

The lights changed and they moved forward, finally crossing the intersection.

”So, who's the bully?” Happy asked. 

Peter turned to him. ”What?” 

”The guy who gave you that shiner yesterday,” Happy clarified. He frowned at Peter for a second and then turned back to the road. ”Healed up real nice by the way.”

Peter's hand brushed along his cheek on instinct. There was no residual pain, the bruise faded to a weak yellow outline that would be gone by morning. ”Bruises don't last long for me,” he answered vaguely.

”Yeah,” Happy said. ”Right.” 

Mainly to distract from the topic, Peter answered Happy's original question. ”It's Mike Sullivan.”

”You want me to take care of it?” Happy asked. “Tony doesn't have to know.”

A small smile tugged at Peter's lips. ”No. It's fine.”

” _Fine_?” 

” _Alright_.” Peter shifted in his seat, hugging his backpack closer to his chest. ”He's not my first bully.” 

”But?” Happy prompted. 

He fiddled with the zipper of his backpack and shrugged, not sure what to answer. Sometimes, Peter was still taken aback by how well Happy seemed to be able to read him. He'd liked him from the start and they'd grown closer quickly, Happy often being the one to welcome Peter when he visited the Tower and escorting him upstairs, sometimes being the one to pick Peter up or drop him off in Queens since he was less recognizable and Peter wanted to avoid curious questions about how he knew Tony Stark. Since Peter had moved in with Tony, Happy had grown even closer and become a kind of confidant. Peter preferred to be driven to school and back by Happy if Tony wasn't available, feeling uncomfortable in the presence of the Stark Industries drivers, who never spoke more than strictly necessary. Happy in turn didn't seem to mind driving Peter when he wasn't too busy. 

”Pete, I know a thing or two about bullies,” Happy said. ”I wasn't Mr. Popular at school, either.”

”I can handle bullies,” Peter said. “Usually. At Midtown, there was this guy, Flash, and we got into fights, but only, like, two or three times and only at the beginning and then it kind of … became different. He's not … that kind of bully anymore, just annoying, you know?”

Happy nodded.

”There were other guys, older guys, who were worse than Flash and they would corner me and … it was still mostly name-calling.”

” _Mostly_ ,” Happy said.

Peter nodded. ”Mostly. They left school, graduated, so it was alright the last year or so. But even when they were … I coped.”

”Okay, so Sullivan isn't your first bully. But?”

”I didn't have a lot of friends at Midtown, but I wasn't … alone,” Peter said, ”and Mike's ...” He trailed off and swallowed against the lump in his throat, the feeling that made his chest feel tight. ”He's probably the worst,” he said softly.

”And you're alone.” 

Peter pressed his lips together. ”I'm alone.” 

Happy steered the car into a reserved spot in front of Avengers Tower, letting the motor idle. ”Maybe you should talk to Tony about switching schools.”

”We talked about it, but he wants me to go to a private school and I … I don't think that would solve the problem. Which is me.”

”You're not the problem,” Happy replied. ”I don't think so, Tony certainly doesn't.” He shrugged. ”I can talk to him, if you want.”

”No,” Peter said. ”I don't want him to worry.”

Happy looked at him. ”If you say so.”

”I say so.”

Happy nodded. “Okay.” He cleared his throat and smiled, changing the topic. ”Can I drop you off here instead of the garage? I need to take care of something.”

”Yeah, sure.”

”See you later then.”

Peter opened the passenger door and gave Happy a short smile. ”Yeah, bye.”

His phone vibrated as he stood on the sidewalk and he fished it out of his pocket while Happy drove away. 

_Pizza for dinner?_

_Yeah_ , he typed out. 

Tony's answer came while he crossed the forecourt of Avengers Tower. 

_Should I order?_

_Yeah, be there in five. Entering the Tower._

He tucked the pone back into his pocket and entered the Tower through the revolving doors, nodding at the security guard waiting just beyond as he passed him. The lobby was huge and adorned by several seating arrangements as well as a reception desk. The entrance to Stark Industries dominated the lobby, signs at the elevators giving directions, one corner taken up by a screen showing a movie of the company's history to a group of bored-looking teenagers crowded around it. Nothing hinted at the fact that the Avengers headquarters had once been housed in the top floors of the building and there was only one elevator leading to that area, secured by F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s facial recognition and retina scan software and hidden away behind the reception desk. 

He was almost at the elevator when somebody stepped into his way and he stopped, looking up at a young woman with short brown hair and intense green eyes. She was smiling widely at him. ”Peter,” she said as if they knew each other. 

He was pretty sure he'd never seen her before.

”I'm Madelyn Bolton, Daily Bugle. Would you mind answering some short questions for me?”

Peter swallowed and gripped the straps of his backpack tightly. ”Oh, I ...” He suddenly wished Happy was here. ”I don't have time, actually.”

”I won't need five minutes. Just a short statement on the adoption?”

”I ...” Peter looked towards the elevator.

”Please?” Madelyn pressed. “It would be interesting to our readers to hear your point of view and it seems that Mr. Stark is blocking any interview requests sent your way.”

”He's ...” Peter trailed off. “I'm not really … I can't really say anything interesting.”

”Well, I'm sure that's not true,” Madelyn said, smiling warmly. ”It's an adoption, not a secret Avengers mission. There's nothing to hide, is there? This is all legal, isn't it?”

Peter stared at her, unsure what she wanted to hear. 

She didn't seem to mind that he didn't answer. ”So, do you just want to confirm to me how you met Tony?” 

”Confirm?” 

”You must have been pretty close for him to decide to take you in, considering he applied for adoption before you could end up in the foster system.”

Peter's eyes flitted towards the security guard at the revolving doors, but he didn't even look their way. ”He's trying to help.”

”So how exactly did you meet?”

Peter made an effort to calm himself and not let his nervousness take over, going back to the cover story they told everyone who didn't know Peter had been Spider-Man. ”The ... High School Initiative. At Stark Industries.” 

Madelyn frowned. ”I wasn't aware that he's overseeing that personally.”

”He isn't, it's just ...” Peter swallowed. ”Somehow, he took notice of my work and he liked it. That's how we know each other.”

”And he just jumped in to help when he heard that you lost your family?”

”Yes.” 

Madelyn smirked. 

Peter suddenly felt like he had walked into a trap. ”I … I really need to leave.”

”Just another minute,” she replied, stepping closer. ”You lived with your aunt and uncle before this, didn't you?” 

He hesitated. ”Yes.” 

”They were not your biological parents.”

Peter stared at her. ”They were my aunt and uncle, so … no.”

”I talked to one of your former neighbors, quite chatty. I'm sure not everything he said was true, I know his type. Looking for his 15 minutes of fame, you know? But … one thing he said made me curious.” She looked at him as if she expected him to answer, but Peter didn't know what to say. ”Apparently, Tony Stark was seen around your neighborhood _before_ you lost your family. Is he visiting every member of the High School Initiative at home?” 

Peter swallowed. ”I ...” He bit his lip and ducked his head. 

”Over the years, several women have come forward claiming that their child is Tony Stark's and while he is – or _was_ – quite the womanizer, not one of them up until now was telling the truth. And then you appear out of nowhere and Tony announces his intention to adopt you and just … look at you. And him.”

”We look nothing alike,” Peter said, getting irritated.

”But you're smart, aren't you? Interested in engineering, a Tony Stark fanboy since the early days with the intention to go to MIT.”

He flushed, his chest tightening. ”How do you know all that?”

”It's just a matter of who you ask, Peter.”

He shook his head and turned away, intending to walk towards the security guard, to get rid of her _somehow_. 

She moved into his path again, the smile gone and her face intense and determined, hard. ”Tony was known for having affairs, frequently. Who's to say he didn't-”

”What's going on?” An arm slid around Peter's shoulders, pulling him close against Tony's side. He should feel relieved, but all he could think about was how the gesture could be construed, what it would look like to _her_ … it wasn't _true_. He knew that. Tony knew that. But all the people who would read the story, they wouldn't know. They'd judge Tony and quite possibly Peter's mother and it wasn't true … it simply wasn't true. Peter barely knew his parents, but he wouldn't let this happen. He wouldn't take another hit against his family.

So he squirmed out of the hold, masking it by stepping back and behind Tony, putting him between Madelyn and himself. Both of them didn't seem to pay him any mind, the words they exchanged were a blur to him, his headache increasing until he felt sick to his stomach, his fingers automatically twisting in the cotton of his t-shirt over his belly. He forced himself to take deep breaths and the nausea abated a bit.

”... back off,” he heard Tony say. Peter flushed when he noticed that people were looking at them curiously in passing, the receptionists staring rather openly. The security guard had approached and was lingering at the periphery, seemingly waiting for a sign to get involved. His presence only pulled more attention towards them. Some of the teenagers watching the movie had turned away from the screen and were looking at them, at _him_ , and it became too much. 

Peter wished Tony would stop, that they could just leave. ”Tony.”

Tony didn't even seem to hear him. ”You're not going to use any of that or I'm going to sue.”

Madelyn scoffed. ”Ever heard of freedom of speech. Freedom of press?”

”Ever heard of integrity?”

”You're one to talk.” 

Peter stepped closer to Tony. ”Can we leave, please?” he asked. 

Tony looked at him, his dark eyes angry.

”I wanna leave,” Peter said. ”Please.” 

Tony seemed to see that he wasn't feeling well. This time, when he grasped Peter's shoulder, Peter didn't flinch away. ”Escort the lady off the premises,” he said to the security guard and didn't wait before turning and leading Peter away, towards the elevator. 

It opened as soon as Tony pushed the button and they entered, quiet until the doors had slid closed. 

”I'm sorry,” Peter said as they started moving, stepping away from Tony and leaning against the wall.

Tony tucked his hands into this pockets. ”It's fine.”

Peter shook his head. ”I'm really sorry.”

”Don't worry about it.”

”Still … I shouldn't have talked to her, I know. I just ...” He bit his lip. ”I-I didn't know how to stop her and ...”

He trailed off when Tony looked at him firmly. ”Peter, it's fine. Stop apologizing. It makes me feel like I should be yelling at you and I think I should kind of save that for when you really screw up.”

The atmosphere became thick, pressing in against him uncomfortably. “Okay.”

”Not that I expect you to,” Tony said, staring at the digital numbers in the display. He shifted and cleared his throat, took a breath as if to speak … and then remained silent.

They got like this, sometimes, and he never could quite tell how. Their relationship used to be uncomplicated and comfortable, but it had changed after May's death and Tony's decision to take Peter in. It only really got like it used to be when they were in Tony's workshop, maybe because it was the only thing that had remained stable and unaffected.

It wasn't as if they were not getting along, but sometimes, Peter seemed to do or say things that tripped Tony up. He became almost hesitant, not speaking even though he'd clearly intended to say something, eyes narrowing and shoulders tensing. Peter wasn't sure what it was that he did wrong but he also didn't dare to ask, unsure how to voice his concerns. Scared he was seeing something that wasn't really there because he tended to overthink stuff, interpreting the behaviors of others incorrectly, especially when he felt insecure. The last thing he wanted was to cause Tony to think that he was doing something wrong. He knew Tony was essentially rearranging his life to make space for Peter in it and he appreciated Tony's willingness to step up for him, trying to repay him by causing as low a disruption as he possibly could.

Peter rubbed his forehead, trying to get his headache to calm down, but it only seemed to get worse.

He saw Tony turn his head towards him. ”One to ten,” he said softly.

Peter looked at him. ”Four,” he said and tagged on, ”I'm fine.”

Tony looked doubtful but he didn't comment on it, just tapped something into his phone.

”Hey,” Peter said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, ”can I sleep at Ned's on Friday?”

Tony frowned at him. ”I thought Ned was going to visit you here.”

Peter dropped his backpack by the kitchen island and hopped onto one of the chairs. A few pieces of apple were arranged on a plate in the middle of the kitchen island and he took one, more to have something to hold than out of hunger. ”Change of plans.” He'd thought about it at school, feeling the need to get out for a little while, back to Queens. He knew that Ned's mother would quite possibly not have a problem with him staying over. He just didn't know what Tony would think. 

Tony poured himself a coffee. ”I'm starting to think you're ashamed of me and that's the reason I don't get to meet your friends.” He raised an eyebrow at him. ”Are we already at that stage of teenage drama where kids feel embarrassed about their parents?”

It slipped out before Peter could stop himself. ”Can't be, you're not my parent.”

Tony paused for just a second before he continued sipping his coffee.

Peter froze, not sure why he'd said that. He felt himself blushing and stammered, ”Technically. Officially. Not yet.” He faked a smile. “Sorry.”

Tony sighed and checked his phone.

Peter bit his lip, kicking himself for destroying what had been turning into a perfectly normal conversation. ”So, can I?”

”I've got a meeting until five. I'll drop you off at Ned's right after.”

”I can take the subway.”

”I will _drive_ you,” Tony answered in a strained voice, setting his cup down with a bit more force than necessary. “Peter ...” He stopped, his eyes focusing on something behind Peter and he turned around automatically.

He froze when he saw the woman standing half-way down the stairs leading up to the workshop, her arms leaning on the rail to regard them like a cat: looking relaxed, but without a doubt taking in every detail, missing nothing.

“Ah,” Tony said, “right. Peter, you remember Natasha Romanoff?”

Peter wondered if anyone had ever been able to forget her once they'd seen her in action. She was an incredible fighter, moving without hesitation, as precise as a scalpel. As much as he admired Iron Man's technology, he also admired the other Avengers and Black Widow was one of his favorites.

She pushed off the rail and came down the stairs. Peter put the slice of apple down, slid off the chair and wiped his hands on his jeans, his heart beating hard enough that he could feel it in his throat. “Of course,” Peter said breathlessly, giving a nervous smile. “Hi.”

Her eyes measured him up and he wondered what she saw. When she reached out a hand, he forced himself not to hesitate for even a second, his eyes not leaving her gaze. Her grip was firm and warm, her green eyes unreadable, but she didn't sound unfriendly when she said, ”Peter, nice to meet you … for real.”

She let go of his hand, but didn't break eye contact, so he forced himself to keep looking at her well. ”You too, ma'am.”

Natasha's lips hinted at a smile before she looked at Tony. ”I like him.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief and he wasn't sure why. He just knew that his headache had let up a bit. ”Okay,” he said. ”Cool.” He swallowed his nervousness. ”So … what-what are you doing here?” He cursed himself for stumbling over his words, is nerves finally showing.

”I had to speak with Tony.”

”About what?”

”Avengers business,” Tony answered.

Peter turned around to him. ”What's wrong?”

”Nothing.” It sounded far too casual. Peter squinted at him, trying to get a clue as to what was really going on. Tony sipped his coffee. Peter glanced at Natasha who was watching him curiously and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, the tingling there spiking into pain for a moment before it died down again.

Suddenly, it made sense.

His headaches, the feeling of danger lingering, Black Widow suddenly appearing back in their lives and Tony just accepting her as if he hadn't spoken about her with a scathing undertone for weeks after Germany.

They wouldn't give him anything to go on, though, that much was clear.

He wasn't one of them.

Peter lifted his shoulders and nodded slowly. ”Okay. Well, I've got homework.”

”Pizza'll be here in about half an hour,” Tony answered.

“Okay.” He smiled at both of them and then took the backpack and the rest of the apple slices and left for his room.

*** 

The music blared loudly into his ears, cutting him off from the world around him completely. For the first time today, Peter felt like he could relax. The headache had remained, an annoying buzz that kept stealing his concentration, but he didn't feel threatened or watched anymore. He bit the end of his pen, checking over his calculations. 

The shadow suddenly falling over his desk and the hand touching his shoulder caught him by surprise and he reared back, a panicked sound escaping him. 

Tony raised his hands as if showing him he'd come unarmed, his eyes wide and startled. Peter tugged the earbuds out and took a deep breath to calm down. Tony frowned. ”Jesus, are you okay?”

”I'm fine.” Peter breathed deeply, clearing his throat, his hammering heart calming. ”Sorry.” He took another breath. ”I'm kinda on edge.”

”Is there a reason why?” Tony asked. 

Peter reached up subconsciously and rubbed the back of his neck. There was a reason, a very valid reason, but Tony didn't know. Peter had never told him about the riverbank or the lab or _him_. He'd wanted to avoid dragging it all up again after just managing to cram it into a box and locking it away deep down in his subconscious somewhat effectively. 

Besides, he'd thought it was over and it would certainly not come back to haunt him except for a nightmare here or there … he'd been _so_ wrong. And maybe he should just tell him.

”Peter.” Tony's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he found him sitting on the end of his bed, his dark eyes serious.

”Sorry, sorry. It's just ...” He swallowed and shook his head, his fingers coming up to rub his eyes. ”Sorry.” 

Tony leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands folded. ”One to ten.”

”Three.” 

Tony raised his eyebrows, doubtful.

”Really,” Peter said.

”But?” 

”But I feel ...” Peter bit his lip. ”You know. It spikes, but it doesn't go away completely, so I'm … on edge. And there's … I think I saw someone … watching me. Whenever it spikes. I mean, it also happened during dinner with Gareth and I thought it was him but maybe … maybe it wasn't?”

Tony looked at him and waited.

”When I ...” Peter cleared his throat and twisted his fingers together, his knuckles turning white. ”I told you that nobody knows I was Spider-Man.”

”Yeah, I remember.”

”Which isn't entirely true, I mean … he doesn't … he doesn't know my name. I think.”

Tony straightened slowly. ”But he saw your face?”

Peter swallowed. 

_”If you try that again, I'll slit your throat.”_

He shook his head to clear it of the memory, but it lingered. 

_”You're just a baby.”_

”Peter,” Tony said, catching his attention.

”Maybe,” he whispered. 

Tony tensed, his lips pressing together and his eyes narrowing. ”Maybe?” 

Peter pressed a hand against his mouth before he said, ”Definitely.” 

Tony cursed and got up, pacing at the foot of the bed. ”And you didn't think to ever mention this?!”

Peter brushed his hands through his hair, tugging. ”I was kind of trying to forget it ever happened.”

”Well, that's just great,” Tony answered.

”It wasn't a big deal.”

”Well, it could be now! You're telling me he's been _watching_ you?” Tony snapped. He took a steadying breath. ”Right. Who was it?”

Peter shook his head. ”I don't know his name. I don't know what he looks like. He was wearing a suit, just like me. And a mask.”

”And how did he get to see your face?”

Peter released a breath, shrugging. ”It … it was way before we met. Like, one month after I got the powers and … I thought I could take on the big guys but I screwed up and got in over my head. I got involved in something I shouldn't have and I could've … it was bad. And then it got _really_ bad.”

”Stop speaking in riddles, Peter, I'm serious.” Tony stood in front of him, his hands on his hips and his face set into an angry scowl.

”I got captured,” he clarified, cringing. ”I thought it was some kind of drug business down by the harbor. They got me and they were ... the were going to kill me, but then he appeared. He ...” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing when the pictures flashed in his mind again ( _blood on his suit, warm and sticky, dead eyes staring, flickering neon lights_ ). “He got me out. He saved my life.”

”And he saw your face.”

”Yes.”

”And that face was all over the news recently. If he's the kind of person who remembers faces easily, if he reads the tabloids ...” Tony released a breath. ”It doesn't even have to be him, Peter, but what if he decides to make some easy money by selling what he knows? I'm not talking about the Sokovia Accords here. Do you have any idea what kind of awful stuff is happening to people like you out there? There are people who would _pay_ to cut you open!”

_”You're not our first Inhuman.”_

”I know,” Peter said, shuddering. ”But he wouldn't sell my identity.”

”How do you know, if you didn't even get his name?”

”I just ...” He shook his head. ”I just _know_. He saved my life and he … he could have killed me but he … he let me go.”

Tony took a breath, his shoulders relaxing. ”Okay,” he said, breathing again. ”Right. Damage control. Is there anybody else who knows who you are?” 

”No.” 

”Anybody else _Spider-Man_ associated with that you didn't tell me about?”

Peter hesitated.

”Oh God,” Tony groaned.

”Just one guy. He has no clue who I am, though, and I don't know his name. He's another vigilante.” 

”Who?”

Peter swallowed and cleared his throat. ”Daredevil.”

Tony closed his eyes. ”You meet the most interesting people, kid.”

Peter shrugged. ”So … what do we do?”

”For the moment?” Tony asked. ”Be careful. If you say he's watching you but you also think he doesn't have any ill intentions, we just wait and see. But you don't go anywhere alone, okay? I'm not saying that _I_ have to be with you, but … somebody.”

Peter nodded.

”And F.R.I.D.A.Y. will keep track of your phone, so carry it with you at all times. What were your plans with Ned?”

”Play some computer games, maybe catch a movie.”

”Stick to the computer games. Stay in.”

Peter nodded slowly. ”Okay.” 

”Okay,” Tony said. ”And if you notice him again, tell me. Nobody watches somebody without a goal in mind. He might have intended to get in touch with you at some point, but now _I_ will get in touch with _him_.”

Peter swallowed. ”No, I should … I should confront him. I don't think he would attack _me_ but he might think differently about _you_. And he's …” 

_Dead eyes staring, flickering neon lights …_

_“They won't bother you anymore. You saw what I did to them.”_

”... brutal.”

Tony looked at him for a long moment. “Are you sure he wouldn't try to hurt you?”

”He scared me,” Peter answered. ”He's dangerous. I can't be _sure_.” He shook his head. ”But I don't think so.” 

”Okay. Alright.”

Peter ducked his head at Tony's hesitant tone. ”You don't believe me.”

Tony shook his head. ”I'm just … I believe you. I believe you _think_ what you just said, but you can't speak for _him_.” 

Peter swallowed, crossing his arms.

”Okay,” Tony said, ”let's just … let's just wait and see.” He cleared his throat. “I actually just wanted to tell you that I'm going to bed.”

”Okay … 'night. I'll finish this and then … ten minutes.”

”See you tomorrow.” Tony smiled weakly and turned to go. 

“Tony,” Peter said. ”I'm sorry.”

Tony paused, turned back around to him. ”I wish ...” He hesitated. ”I really wish you would stop saying that.” With that, he left, the door to Peter's room clicking closed. 

His eyes strayed to the window, the city lights sparkling underneath and around him, leaving plenty of shadows to hide in, to get close and watch. The Tower was one of the highest skyscrapers and there were no buildings high enough nearby to actually be able to look into Peter's room, but the feeling of not being quite alone remained.

He got up and slapped the blinds closed.

_”I'll see you around, baby boy.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh ... it's still Saturday somewhere, right?

**NOW**

 

When Peter woke up, everything hurt. A sound of pain escaped him unwittingly, his throat feeling scratchy and his mouth dry. A hand touched the side of his face and he opened his eyes, finding a blurry version of Tony smiling at him. He blinked, clearing his vision. 

“There you go, kid,” Tony said. His smile seemed a little tense now, his hand against Peter's face holding him in place. “Don't freak out, it's okay. You're safe.”

Peter swallowed, coughing when the dryness in his mouth and throat didn't abate. He couldn't see anything, the low lighting and the way Tony leaned into his line of vision blocked most of his view. Tony didn't let him turn his head even as Peter tried, his thumb coming to rest against Peter's temple. Pain shot through his abdomen and he grimaced, his hands going there automatically. A dull ache thumped against his wrist at the movement and he frowned in confusion. His thoughts felt jumbled and slow, his body heavy. Had he been drugged?

“One to ten,” Tony said.

“Eleven,” Peter whispered.

Tony looked off to the side. “Could you-”

“Yeah,” a woman replied. “Give me a minute.”

“'s going on?” Peter asked. He now identified a beeping sound next to him, the smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. His breathing quickened, adrenaline waking him up properly. “Wher'm I?”

“Peter,” Tony said. “Peter, look at me.”

He obeyed, looking into Tony's eyes ...

_... Tony yanked him off the floor and slammed him against the wall, one hand closing around Peter's neck while the other pressed a gun against his temple. ”Be smart, Tiny.” ..._

... and Tony made a soothing noise. “Hey, hey,” he said. Peter stared at him, searching his face for anything that shouldn't be there, anything lacking because ...

_... Tony sneered. "Unlock the system.”_

_Peter winced when the gun pressed harder against his temple, forcing him to tilt his head. “No.” ..._

... Tony's thumb traced over Peter's temple. “You're okay.” ...

_... Peter's legs gave out and he fell, sliding to the floor with his back pressed to the kitchen island. The pain increased quickly, his chest feeling like it was being torn in half, his breaths choking on gasps._

_”Peter. No.”_

_Tony fell to his knees beside him. His hands joined Peter's, Peter's fingers stumbling over Tony's, slick with blood and shaking badly. Tony pressed down **hard** and it **hurt**. Peter gasped, tensing, his head banging against the kitchen island. Tony made a soothing noise before he turned away, his voice cracking as he shouted. _

_”Natasha!” ..._

... “Underoos,” Tony said.

Peter swallowed, blinking to get rid of the jumbled mess of memories flitting through his mind. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened?” ...

_... ”Figures. He'd adopt a freak.” ..._

... “There was an attack on the Tower and you got hurt,” Tony said. “I had to take you to a hospital.”

Peter's eyes widened, more memories trickling back in - the fight, the web-shooters, _the gun, **Tony**_ \- and he tried to turn his head. Tony relinquished his hold, his hand settling on Peter's shoulder instead. “Everything's okay.” 

The low lights made the room seem less like a hospital room, the blinds had been drawn to banish the glare of the sun. He was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor, a cannula in his nose irritating enough that he removed it with uncoordinated, bruised fingers. His head hurt and his cheek and lip felt sore, his ribs were screaming in pain whenever he pulled too deep a breath, but his wrist and stomach emitted the most of the pain. 

Tony seemed to be able to read his thoughts on his face because he grimaced in sympathy. ”You didn't react too good to the pain meds they gave you, so we took you off them. Jillian's got a better alternative for you.”

Peter caught sight of an elegantly dressed woman near the door, who was going through a medical bag. Her black hair was pulled back into a tidy bun and when she smiled shortly at him, her dark eyes were warm and friendly.

“Jillian's an Avengers doctor,” Tony said. 

She stepped closer, a syringe in her hand. “Hey, Peter.” 

Peter stared at her. His danger-sense didn't seem to react to her presence at all, though it was hard to tell with the headache he was nursing due to his injuries. However, there was no violent reaction, no flight-or-fight feeling … he swallowed and tried to relax.

“You with me?” Tony asked.

Peter looked at him and nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Tony's shoulders slumped a bit and he seemed a bit more relaxed. And tired. Very tired. “Good, you kind of freaked last time you woke up.”

Peter raised his throbbing hand and looked at the cast. “I can't remember.” He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy and nauseous for a moment. “What am I … what'd they give me?” 

”Don't ask me to repeat the name,” Tony said. “It's strong, though. You have a resistance to sedatives.”

”I know. Metabolism.”

Jillian settled on the edge of the bed, holding the syringe up for Peter to see. “Which is why I brought something that was designed for people with fast metabolisms. It's going to take care of the pain, but it won't make you groggy, which should reduce the chances of another panic attack.”

”Panic attack?” Peter asked. 

Tony's hand squeezed his shoulder. ”You tried to fight your way out of here.”

”Oh.” 

”Yeah, I learned my lesson. I'll definitely take you seriously from now on when you tell me you don't want to see a doctor.”

Peter pressed his lips together, avoiding Tony's eyes. ”It's … it's the smell and the lab coats and ...” He looked at the syringe in Jillian's hand. 

_”You're not our first Inhuman.”_

Apparently seeing Peter's apprehension, Tony said, ”It's going to take care of the pain, Peter. S.H.I.E.L.D. designed it.” He caught Peter's eyes. “Steve used it a couple of times. No complaints.”

Peter knew he could trust Tony. He knew he wouldn't intentionally set him up to get hurt in any way. And he _was_ in pain. ”Fine,” he agreed hoarsely. “Okay.” He couldn't help but watch Jillian empty the syringe into his IV port, though, the fingers of his good hand fidgeting with the blanket. 

Jillian smiled at him and then looked at Tony. ”I'll give you a few minutes.”

Tony nodded, waiting until she'd left the room to look at Peter and ask, “Do you need anything?”

Peter shook his head, grimacing at the dull pain it caused. “Maybe ... I wanna sit up,” he amended then. Tony handed him the remote for the bed and adjusted the pillows behind his back until Peter had found a comfortable position. He cradled his good hand over the pain in his stomach, feeling the thick bandages under the hospital gown. “Okay,” he said, pulling a face. “Ouch.” 

”That's an understatement.”

Peter felt a bit light-headed, but it faded as soon as his body had accepted the new position. Sitting upright meant that he could see more of his surroundings and it made him feel less vulnerable. The first tendrils of numbness crawled through his limbs, the pain medication taking effect. Peter sighed in relief. “What happened after ...”

”After you took three bullets for me?” In the dim light, Tony looked haunted, exhausted … and a bit angry.

Peter tried a smile. ”Was it three? New record.”

”Don't even joke about this,” Tony answered earnestly. “You scared me. Big time.” He swallowed audibly, raking both hands through his hair and entwining them at the back of his head. He released a breath. “I was supposed to get hit.”

Peter frowned. ”And I was supposed to watch? It's not like I planned doing it. It happened. I have a healing factor, as much as it sucks. You don't. You would've died.”

”You _could_ have died,” Tony replied heatedly. “It's not your job to protect me. It's mine to protect you.” He got up and turned away, pulling up the blinds on the window to look outside. 

The intrusion of the bright sunlight made Peter's head pound worse and he closed his eyes. “It's not a job,” he said slowly. “If it feels like one, you're doing it wrong.”

“What?” 

Peter opened his eyes again and saw that Tony had turned around to face him, his hands on his hips. ”Something Ben used to say. To people who thought Ben and May were doing my parents' _job_ raising me.”

Tony brushed a hand down his face, tired. “Peter ... it doesn't … I don't think of it as an obligation, I'm just trying …” He said took a breath, shaking his head. “I'm trying.” He sighed. “I can't do this right now.” 

Peter swallowed. “I'm sorry.”

Tony huffed a laugh and shook his head. ”What for?”

Peter looked at him blankly, trying to find an answer that wasn't _'everything'_ , the one he instinctively thought of. The one that sounded pathetic and needy and everything he didn't want to be. But he couldn't come up with anything. ”I don't know.”

”God, Peter,” Tony sighed, turning away. 

Peter winced and pressed his good hand against his eye, his headache spiking towards unbearable. Sliding his hand to the back of his neck to dig the tips of his fingers against the base of his skull, he tried to stem the pain at its source, but it only seemed to get worse.

”Tony,” someone said and they both looked to the door, where Jillian was standing. Peter hadn't even heard her come back in. She was keeping her eyes on Tony as she said, ”You're exhausted. Just … take a break. I'll stay with Peter for a little while.”

Tony ducked his head, heaved a deep sigh and then he nodded. ”Yeah. I'll grab some breakfast at the cafe downstairs.” 

”You should go home,” Jillian said. ”You've been awake for twenty-four hours. You need sleep.”

The thought of Tony leaving – leaving him alone at the hospital – made Peter's heart skip a beat. ”No.” It escaped before he could stop himself. Tony and Jillian turned towards him, Jillian with a sympathetic smile, Tony with a frown. Peter clenched his fingers in the blanket. ”Can you just ...” He swallowed, for a moment afraid to admit it, feeling like a child that was embarrassed of needing the light in the hallway on at night and the door slightly ajar. Just so that he could see there were no monsters in his room with him. ”No, it's fine,” he said then, almost choking on the words. ”Sorry.” He winced when he noticed that he'd used the word again and avoided Tony's eyes.

It was quiet for a long moment. He felt Tony staring at him and carefully didn't meet his gaze. Finally, Tony said, ”Pepper should be here soon. I'll go home for a little while once she's here. I've lasted longer than twenty-four hours.” 

Peter was eternally grateful, breathing a sigh of relief … and trying not to show it.

”I'll get breakfast, though,” Tony added. He looked at Peter, almost as if to make sure that him leaving even for a short while was okay with him. Peter gave him a strained smile and a nod. It was fine. 

He just had to avoid falling asleep.

He heard the door click close and took a breath, pulling his legs to his chest as far as the dull pain in his stomach allowed and hunching forward, twisting his good hand in his hair and pulling to try and distract himself from his headache. He had to get a grip. He had to calm down. 

He had to get out of here. 

His nightmares got worse when he was stressed or injured and he didn't need anyone witnessing them, not even Tony. 

_Especially_ not Tony.

The mattress dipped and he startled, looking up to find Jillian staring at him intently. He'd forgotten about her and felt his cheeks flush hotly at his display of weakness. She smiled gently. ”Peter, may I ask you something?”

He looked at her carefully. ”I guess.”

“You can tell me if you'd rather not answer. And it goes without saying that I won't discuss anything you say with Tony without your consent.” Her dark eyes held his until he felt uncomfortable and looked down.

“Okay,” he said.

Jillian paused, letting silence settle for a moment, before she asked, ”Why are you doing this to yourself?”

He frowned, looking up at her again. ”What? What am I doing?”

”The headaches, Peter,” she answered earnestly. ”I think you're the one who's causing them.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

There were many things Tony was capable of, Natasha knew. Being a father to someone … it had never crossed her mind. 

It wasn't _completely_ unimaginable, of course. Tony had the potential to be a father figure. Despite his many flaws, Tony was also someone who could guide and protect and enable others. She just had never considered that someone to be his own child. She'd never really been able to picture him getting up in the middle of the night to soothe a baby and taking walks in the park with a stroller. He liked being around adults more than he liked being around children or even teenagers. But Peter was smarter than most kids his age, more responsible and independent. And if there was one thing that always managed to catch Tony's interest, it was a new project. Spider-Man had been just that for several weeks before Tony had been able to identify him as a kid from Queens and he'd been too invested by that time to care. What had probably started out as a distraction for Tony after losing not only Pepper, but also the Avengers and his deep connection to being Iron Man, had become more somewhere along the line.

Tony _needed_ to be needed and Peter had needed him on several levels: as a mentor, a confidant and, finally, someone to step up for him when he couldn't do so himself. Natasha doubted that Tony had been aware of how much he'd come to really care for Peter up until that point. Maybe he still didn't quite know.

Natasha turned away from the panorama window overlooking New York and back to the penthouse, making her way towards the stairs. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s night mode only allowed for a minimal amount of light in the kitchen and hallway. Wherever she moved, additional lights switched on, but they, too, remained dim and subtle. Just enough to see where she was going, not enough to shake the feeling that it was too late at night for her to be up. She hadn't been able to fall back asleep after a nightmare, though.

She climbed the stairs and stopped outside the lab for a moment, thinking of Bruce. She hadn't heard from him in months, nobody had. They'd tried to find him at first after Ultron, but had been unsuccessful. They could only assume that he was hiding away somewhere.

She didn't want to consider the alternative.

Moving on, she passed the lab to get to the workshop, pausing in the doorway as the lights came on dimly. The penthouse as well as the Avengers facility reflected Tony's taste: huge open spaces and clear lines, stylish and expensive ... but not very cozy. His workshops were another story. In the penthouse, it was one of the few places that actually felt lived-in and used. It was also the only place aside from Peter's room where she could see that Tony wasn't living alone.

This morning, she'd told Tony that the penthouse hadn't changed during her absence. She wasn't sure whether he'd actually grasped her meaning. She wondered whether Tony was aware that Peter did not leave an obvious mark of his presence in Tony's life. Pepper had been very present, books and magazines abandoned on side tables and the couch, the ever-changing pieces of art lining the walls, the splotches of color in form of vases and flowers and bowls of fruit. She'd been subtle, her taste so similar to Tony's, but she'd been noticeable.

Walking into Tony's penthouse this morning, it had looked exactly the same way it had looked the last time Natasha had been there. If she hadn't known about Peter, she would never have assumed that someone besides Tony was living here, especially not a teenager.

But the workshop was a different story.

It was clearly the refuge of two people, post-its used to swap messages and ideas, hand-written notes scattered among tools and parts, one of the whiteboards stuck to the wall curiously enough displaying an unfinished game of Hangman using a ridiculously long word. Natasha crossed her arms, pulling the cardigan tight around herself to ward off the slight chill in the room as she stepped inside.

It was ironic that the very things that had brought Tony and Peter together in the first place were now abandoned husks: a Spider-Man suit lying on a workbench in one corner and a damaged Iron Man suit hanging from the ceiling in another.

She raised her hand, her fingers brushing over one of the dents in the Iron Man suit. It looked like it had been mangled at some point in time, torn and split open, but the fissures were closed now and coding was running over the tablet screen hooked up to the unit, like a steady heartbeat.

”It's the suit he wore in Siberia.”

Natasha wasn't startled. She'd heard him approach, even though he was only wearing socks. He hadn't tried to be quiet. She wondered whether he'd be able to get the drop on her if he _did_ try.

She turned around to Peter, finding him in the doorway in pajama trousers and a hoodie over an oversized t-shirt, his hair rumpled and his eyes tired.

Natasha looked back at the suit in surprise. ”He's fixing it?”

Peter entered and stopped next to her, his eyes scanning the tablet computer's display. ”No. I am.” He hopped onto the table, his legs swinging lazily as he followed the code running over the screen. ”He's not working on any of his suits.”

Natasha leaned against the table. ”It's late,” she stated. It wasn't a question, not even a prompt to talk, but should he want to …

”Couldn't sleep. I've got … stuff ...” He trailed off.

“Nightmares,” she said.

He didn't seem surprised that she knew.

“I get them, too. So does Tony.” She crossed her arms, looking at him carefully. “What are they about?”

He pressed his lips together, squinting at the screen. “My aunt and my uncle. Spider-Man.” It was a vague answer but Natasha didn't push it. Peter cleared his throat and looked up, his gaze meeting hers firmly. She liked that about him, the way he looked her in the eye, even though his voice and body language gave away that he was nervous. ”So … what are you doing here, ma'am? I mean ... in New York. Is there … like, a problem? With the Avengers?”

“Do you really want to know?”

”I-I ...” He swallowed and his gaze slid away, back to the coding running over the screen of the tablet computer. ”I really want to know.” He raised his head to look up at the suit. “Tony isn't speaking about Iron Man anymore and he's not working on his suits and … some people are saying that Captain Rogers is wanted for questioning and others that he's a traitor and … Tony gets kinda tense whenever somebody asks about the Avengers, so I don't … do that anymore, but … I just wanna ...” He met her eyes again, turning to face her and folding his legs on the table. ”I just want to understand. What happened. 'Cause we went to Germany to fix this and it feels like we've made it worse. And I get …” He hunched his shoulders, hesitating for a moment.

Natasha waited him out.

“Rhodey says there was some kind of fight between Tony and Captain Rogers about the Accords or whatever. I get that. But … shouldn't they at least _try_ to talk? I mean, for the … the greater good and all. The world needs the Avengers.”

Natasha sighed deeply, shifting to turn fully towards him, her hip leaning against the workbench near his knees and her arms crossed. ”Peter, as much as I'd like to tell you that we were the great team the world always saw in us … we weren't. This would have gone down differently if we had been.” It hurt to say it, but it was true. She cleared her throat. ”Tony took the lead in something that Steve didn't agree with and they tried to force each other to see it their way. And the biggest mistake that the rest of the team made was to pick sides instead of trying to find a compromise. And Siberia ...” She glanced at the suit. “It became personal.”

Peter looked close to heartbroken. ”They can't just give up on the Avengers.”

”I don't think they are,” Natasha said. ”Not entirely. Steve wants to talk.”

”Why is he sending _you_ then? He should be here himself.”

”Steve doesn't want to put Tony into the position to decide whether he should call the authorities on him.”

Peter's eyes widened. ”Tony wouldn't.”

”Tony was the one who signed off on the others being locked away at the Raft, Peter.”

His eyes narrowed before his head ducked, his fingers tapping against the workbench. When he looked up again, he asked carefully, ”What's the Raft?”

Natasha felt her stomach twist. She swallowed. ”Tony didn't tell you?”

“He never mentioned it.”

She took a deep breath, cursing herself for assuming that Tony would when she knew how guilty he felt about the whole thing. “It's not important anyway.”

She turned away but his hand grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly strong. His dark eyes stared at her intently. ”No. Tell me.”

”Peter-”

”I want to know.” He swallowed, his hand letting go of her. “Sorry, I ... please.”

Natasha sighed.

***

Tony had driven Peter to school, asking him what was wrong as they'd parked, and Peter had just left with a vague response assuring him that he was fine. His head felt awful since the morning, though, the ache originating at the back of his neck and settling behind his left eye, insistent and distracting. However, it wasn't so much his danger-sense that was really bothering him. It was his talk with Natasha last night. It had taken an hour and left him exhausted, lying awake for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling.

He didn't know how to feel about it.

About the fact that Tony had agreed to put his team behind bars. About Scarlet Witch … all he could think about was _her_ , tied up and alone, controlled by a collar like a misbehaving dog.

What would the Raft do, he thought, if they got their hands on Peter?

He was so distracted that he didn't pay proper attention during classes or in-between. The day passed in a blur and he only remembered about tutoring Harry when he was stopped by him on his way to the library after lunch. He had no clue whether he was even able to summon the concentration for it. He would have canceled, but felt that it was too late to do so without seeming rude, so he decided to give it a try, thinking that maybe being in direct conversation with someone would help him gain a bit of distance. 

It started out well enough. 

They'd settled at one of the tables outside, soaking in the rays of the sun, and went through the chapter their Physics teacher had given them to read in preparation for the next class. Harry wasn't as clueless as he seemed to think he was, easily able to follow Peter's explanations. He just seemed distracted a lot, preoccupied with checking his phone and drumming his fingers on the table.

Peter raised his eyebrows at him when Harry checked his phone for the umpteenth time and dropped it onto the table angrily, brushing his hands through his hair in agitation. Peter asked,”You okay?”

”Yeah. A bit on edge,” Harry answered. 

Peter nodded. ”I know the feeling.”

”You look like a kicked puppy today,” Harry said. He looked around and then dug a pack of cigarettes from his backpack, lighting one up. ”Then again, that seems to be kind of a theme for you.”

Peter frowned at the cigarette. Harry ignored his look. Peter sighed. ”It's just ...” He trailed off, shaking his head. ”It's nothing.”

”Fine. Don't tell me.”

”Hey, Stark,” someone said. Peter closed his eyes, dread curling in his stomach. When he opened them again, Mike Sullivan was standing next to their table. He was tall and athletic, with an angular, perfect face and bright blue eyes that had most of the girls at school crush on him. His dark hair was always styled in a way that suggested he spent a lot of time in front of a mirror. He played football for the school's team and typically wore the varsity jacket bearing Rochester Academy's emblem. Mike also never came alone, always flanked by his two friends who were just as good-looking and just as popular as him. Peter didn't know their names, though. They rarely spoke to him, mostly happy to just listen to Mike's taunts. 

Peter's fingers curled around the Physics book and he ducked his head, pretending to be engrossed in the text.

”You have a boyfriend now?” Mike asked.

”Shut up, Sullivan,” Harry said, stubbing the cigarette out on the table and dropping it on the ground.

Mike snorted. ”Word of advice,” he said, looking at Peter, ”if you intend to ever do more than scrape the bottom at this school, you shouldn't go for _this_ train wreck.”

Harry got up, his shoulders tense and his hands balled to fists. ”Fuck off, Mike.” 

Peter's danger-sense started to hum a clear warning. The way Harry was standing there, shaking with suppressed anger, Peter didn't wait any longer. He grabbed his backpack and book before he slung Harry's bag over his shoulder as well. ”Let's go somewhere else.” 

He felt Harry by his side, joining him reluctantly but following him, and breathed a sigh of relief. His danger-sense calmed the more distance they put between themselves and Mike. It would have probably ended there, if Mike hadn't called out, ”Running away just like your loser dad, Stark?” 

Peter halted. 

“He's not much without those other freaks, is he?” 

Harry turned around. “You mean the freaks who saved this city from being overrun by aliens? Those freaks?”

Sullivan snorted. “God, Osborn, I didn't know you are a fan. Is that why you're hanging out with him?”

Peter shook his head and took Harry's arm, his danger-sense blaring at him. “Let's just go.”

Sullivan continued, ”Or is it because he doesn't know why your mom offed herself?”

Harry shrugged Peter off, charging at Sullivan. All Peter could do was follow him.

***

“Will you get into trouble?” Harry asked.

Peter pulled his shoulders up into a shrug, casting a glance at Principal Atkins's office door. It had been twenty minutes since Tony and Norman Osborn had entered. Peter and Harry had been asked to wait outside and they'd settled on a bench in the corner of the hallway, the office only a few steps away. Sunlight was bathing them in warm light, gleaming on the marble floor and wood paneling. Harry was pressing an ice pack against the bruised knuckles of his right hand while Peter was nursing a split lip. For once, his headache was gone and he was enjoying the respite. It was almost as if pressure had been released in the fight, Peter finally able to react to the warnings his body sent him, though Peter had held back and mainly tried to keep Mike and Harry apart while fending off Mike's friends.

Two teachers and one security guard had finally broken up the fight and while Mike and his friends had been escorted to the vice principal's office, Peter and Harry had been sat down in front of Principal Atkins's office to wait for their parents. 

He heard Principal Atkins laugh through the closed door, which was probably a good sign.

Peter still had no idea how to answer Harry's question, though. Tony had seemed pretty tense when he'd arrived but since Atkins had called him and Norman into her office immediately, they hadn't had the time to really talk. 

He rubbed his thumb along the display of his phone nervously. ”I don't know. Will you?”

Harry heaved a sigh. ”Definitely.” He looked at Peter. “It was nice knowing you. You didn't suck.”

”What?” Peter asked, confused.

”Rochester's not cool about violence. This is my third strike. Dad's gonna be so pissed, he'll probably send me to that military boarding school he's been threatening me with.”

Peter stared at him. ”You'd be leaving?”

Harry shrugged and Peter swallowed, ducking his head. The thought of losing the only person at the school he had started to think could _maybe_ become a friend ...

Peter looked up as Tony and Norman Osborn left Principal Atkins's office, shaking her hand before turning to Peter and Harry sitting in the corner. Peter felt Harry tense up next to him. He could understand the reaction. Norman Osborn was an imposing man whose very appearance called for respect, dressed impeccably in a suit and dark coat. Harry had his dark, intense eyes and the same dark-blonde hair, though Norman's was cut short enough that no curls were showing. Other than that, they didn't look much alike. Harry was slim where his father was broad-shouldered and athletic, Harry's features were almost fine compared to his father's prominent eyebrows and nose. 

One other thing they seemed to have in common, tough. Their temper. ”I swear to God, Harry,” Norman snapped as soon as he got close enough. ”If I get pulled out of one more meeting because of your shenanigans-”

”It wasn't my fault,” Harry said, getting up and dropping the ice pack.

”It never is,” Norman answered, looming over his son with his hands on his waist. ”Christ, Harry! Do you have _any_ idea what I had to do to get you enrolled here in the first place?”

Harry scoffed. ”You probably paid them.”

”Five schools!” Norman shouted.

Peter jumped despite himself, pressing back against the wall and ducking his head, his fingers entwining nervously. He didn't like yelling. His uncle had never yelled at him, no matter how angry he'd been. 

He wondered whether Tony would. 

A dull headache started to build behind his temples, the back of his neck tingling.

Tony gave an exasperated sigh. ”Do you mind, Norman? I have one hell of a headache.” He was wearing a suit as well, which he only did when he had some kind of business meeting to attend. Peter hoped that the school's phone call hadn't interrupted anything too important. Tony reached out a hand towards Peter. ”Peter, we're leaving.”

Peter got up and stepped over to him, Tony's hand closing around his shoulder on their way down the hallway towards the entrance. Peter swallowed, tucking his phone into his jeans pocket as he sidled closer to Tony, looking up at him pleadingly. ”Tony, I'm sorry.”

Tony didn't look at him. ”We'll talk at home.”

”I didn't mean to-”

”At _home_ , Peter.” His voice was hard, not allowing any argument. 

Peter heard Norman and Harry follow behind them, could hear Norman speak in the same tone. ”Five schools you've been expelled from. This would be your sixth.”

” _They_ started it, dad!”

”I warned you to get your act together. If you get expelled, I'm sending you to military school. They'll teach you discipline.”

”Right, 'cause that's gonna have an effect. I'm used to guys shouting at me.”

Norman scoffed. ”If your mother could see you now-”

”Well she can't, can she?!”

There was a pause, a slight falter in Norman's angry steps.

Tony and Peter left the building and Harry and Norman faded away as the door closed. Peter looked up instinctively when his sense flared up, the presence of _him_ much more acute after his recent spell of having felt no discomfort. As they walked towards the car, Peter shifted closer to Tony instinctively and he kept staring up at the building across the street, sure that he could see a silhouette in one of the windows. ”Tony-”

”I don't want to hear a word,” Tony interrupted him and stopped, staring at him angrily. ”This is not the kind of discussion you want to have in public, Peter.”

”But-”

”Get in the car,” Tony said, his tone sharp, before he turned to walk away. ” _Now_.”

Peter looked up to where he felt _him_ lurk and swallowed. ”Tony-”

” _Peter_ ,” Tony snapped, the door to the driver side already open.

Peter looked at him and pressed his lips together. Tony raised his eyebrows, gesturing towards the passenger side impatiently. Peter closed his eyes, forcing the nausea down that seemed to get worse, trying to ignore the way his headache built to become a migraine and crossed the rest of the distance to the car, opening the passenger door. ”Okay,” he said. ”Okay.” He dropped into the seat and closed the door, pressing his back against the seat and taking a few deep breaths. _He_ couldn't see him in here, couldn't know that Peter was terrified … 

Tony lingered, standing next to the car, his face not visible to Peter. When he finally got in and closed the door, he seemed to have taken a few deep breaths as well.

”I'm sorry,” Peter said softly, his hands knotting in the straps of his backpack.

Tony didn't answer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late again ... I'm sorry.
> 
> Thank you for all your nice comments, though. They continue to light up my days. :)

**NOW**

 

Peter stared at Jillian, his dark eyes wide and confused. “What?”

She nodded slowly to herself and shifted on the edge of the bed to sit closer to him, not missing the way he tensed automatically, his fingers clenching in the blanket. “That's what I thought. You're not even aware you're doing it.”

“I don't ...” Peter frowned. “I'm not _causing_ the headaches. The danger-sense is part of ...” He stopped and pressed his lips together.

”Spider-Man?” Jillian asked. 

Peter closed his eyes in defeat, apparently accepting that she knew everything about his powers. ”Spider-Man. It's acting up at the moment. I can't ... I can't _influence_ it.”

“When you say it's acting up, what exactly does that mean?” Jillian asked.

Peter cradled his good hand over the wounds in his stomach, making an effort to relax back against the pillows. “Usually, it only works in a fight or when ... like, when I'm about to be hit by a car. It causes an instinctive reaction. On automatic, like ... muscle memory. Mostly, I don't even know that I need to duck before I'm already doing it.”

Jillian shifted even closer to him, switching off the heart monitor. “It reacts to an immediate threat of a physical injury,” she summarized.

“Yes.” He muttered his thanks when Jillian removed the electrodes from his chest. “But now it's ... it's all over the place, reacting when somebody watches me, reacting to the head of the R&D department, reacting to ...” He shook his head and his eyes slid to the side, away from hers. “I don't know. Everything.”

She raised her eyebrows, not about to let him get away that easily, especially not when she thought she was breaking some ground here. Peter seemed to be willing to trust her much easier than she thought he would. “To Tony?”

He bit his lip, hesitating. “I ... I guess. It's hard to say because it rarely stops. Only the ... intensity is different.”

“Do you get nauseous sometimes?” Jillian asked, starting a mental checklist.

He nodded.

“Sensitivity to light?”

“Yeah.”

“Do your fingers tingle? Does everything seem too loud?”

Peter looked at her in surprise. “I ...” He swallowed and shifted, grimacing when he tried to sit up straighter. “Cotton feels scratchier, I get cold easily. I can't … I can't focus, sometimes, everything is distracting me, so I … I listen to music a lot. It doesn't make the headache go away but it's … easier to focus.”

Jillian nodded slowly. “Peter, those are symptoms of sensory overload. It's not unusual for people with enhanced senses to experience this when they are stressed or injured.”

”Okay.” He looked at her carefully, mulling her words over. “You're saying that as if the sensory overload is a symptom as well.”

”Usually it is,” she confirmed. “It's a warning your body is extending to you, asking you to stop subjecting yourself to some form of stress that you might not notice is there.”

”But ... it's been a few weeks.”

She knew that he _knew_ what she was trying to say. After everything Tony had told her, he was much too bright not to make the connection. Even this tired and shaken, he had to have made it. ”A few weeks?” she asked carefully. “Or two months?” 

His face paled, his expression twisting. Or, she thought, he'd been hoping she would not confirm what he'd known all along.

Jillian continued, “The first time this happened, the first time your senses reacted _this_ violently to something that wasn't a physical threat, was the night your aunt passed away.” It was a statement, not a question.

Peter stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “Tony told you that?”

”Yes. Tony was worried, so he came to talk to me.”

Peter closed his eyes and ducked his head, crossing his arms carefully. “Yeah, the night ... that night. When May ...” He trailed off.

Jillian noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced towards the door. It wasn't closed completely and she saw a shadow hovering just beyond it. Giving no indication that she'd seen Tony, she asked Peter, “That night ... when did the headache start?”

“Around the time ...” He looked up at her and his eyes were wet. “... May ... died.”

She shook her head. “That was when it became bad. But when did it _start_?”

Peter took a breath, his shoulders tight and his arms still crossed. He looked small and vulnerable like this, younger than he actually was. It broke Jillian's heart to see him this insecure.

He met her eyes. “I guess ... it started the morning she was admitted. Maybe a few hours later.”

“After you were informed about her condition?”

“Yeah, they said she might ... do we ... have to talk about this?”

“We don't _have to_ talk about anything, Peter. Just tell me and we'll stop,” she answered.

He looked at her for a long moment. “Just ...” His hands tightened their hold around himself. “Not ... that night.”

“Okay. We'll just move on. The headaches haven't stopped since then, right?”

Peter swallowed and ducked his head. “Some days are better than others. Mostly, it's like a normal headache, but I can't do anything against it. Other days - the worst days - it hurts a lot and I feel like I can't ... I can't think straight and I can't sleep and everything's ... too much. Like ... there's danger everywhere ... and when there _really_ is, it only gets worse and hurts so much I can't ...” He pulled a face.

Jillian hummed a confirmation. “How does it usually feel when the danger-sense goes off?”

”A sharp pain right here.” He put his hand on the back of his neck. “For a second.”

”That's the message to your body to duck,” Jillian explained, “overriding your brain.”

He looked confused, his brows furrowed. ”But there's no physical danger to react to at the moment.”

”No, there isn't, but fear tends to sharpen some of our senses, driving our body into fight-or-flight mode. For you, this could also affect the danger-sense. You wouldn't notice at first because it only makes itself known when it sends messages to point you towards sources of immediate physical danger, but after a while, it would become strained and that's when the headaches start. The prospect of losing your aunt or have her be very sick would put quite an amount of pressure on you because I'm sure you started to consider all angles: consequences for her, for you, financially.”

Peter's eyes slid to the side, staring towards the window, squinting into the morning sunlight falling through.

“Am I right?” Jillian asked.

Peter gave a short nod.

“When your headache got worse that night, it was probably a release of pent-up pressure once you started to relax, knowing Tony would help you figure things out, support you and your aunt.”

“It became better while I stayed at the Facility with Tony, but it didn't go away completely.”

“Staying at the Facility gave you a break, but there was still stress. Concerns about the future and whether the adoption would work out, figuring out where to live and where to go to school, what all that would mean for your friendships.”

“It got worse when we returned to New York.”

“Your stress levels increased with the new school and adjusting to a new life.”

“And when there was actual danger, like ...” He hesitated. “... bullies?”

Jillian nodded. “Your danger-sense is on alert, _constantly_ , waiting for something to happen. It's like a nerve lying open and vulnerable, and every little thing it registers is now worth a reaction. So if you are in actual danger, it feels much worse than it usually would because the danger-sense is screaming at you over the static of what has become its standard setting.”

“So you're saying that ...”

“I'm saying that to get rid of the headaches, you need to find a way to stop being so scared all the time.”

He swallowed, shaking his head. “But ... I don't ... I'm not.”

“Peter,” she answered earnestly, “you're terrified.”

He gave the ghost of a smile. “Okay, I mean ... it's just, the adoption's not finalized.”

“That's not it,” she answered, seeing his smile wane. “Am I right?”

He stared at her, seemingly trying to decide what to answer or whether to answer at all. If he told her to leave, she would.

But Jillian didn't think he would ask.

“I can do this,” he finally said. “I can get this under control, please just don't tell him. He'll ... try to ...” His breathing hitched and he raised a hand to wipe his eyes. “I'm not scared of _Tony_.”

“I know,” she answered. “You're scared of losing him.”

Peter leaned into her touch for a second before he withdrew, looking towards the window again. He was silent for so long that Jillian was getting ready to leave, accepting a dismissal when she saw one. But he finally said, “Yes.” 

Jillian shook her head. ”I don't think you will, Peter. I don't think he's even considering giving up on the adoption.”

His voice broke when he replied, ”But I screwed this up so much.” He grimaced, tears gathering in his eyes. Wiping an angry hand over his face, he added, “And I don't even know how I managed. I tried to stay out of his hair. I tried to do good at school. It's just ... it doesn't matter what I do or which clothes I wear, I'll never be like him. I'll never be like the other kids at Rochester. I don't belong and they know that.” He drew a ragged breath and gave up trying to stem his tears, looking straight at her instead. “ _He_ knows it. And I bet he wanted something different out of this. Someone with less baggage, someone who's less of a loser and less … sad all the time.”

She asked, ”Someone like Spider-Man?”

Peter huffed a laugh but it sounded fake. “Spider-Man.” He closed his eyes tightly, his expression almost looking as if he was in pain. “No, I mean someone who won't call him a traitor.” He took a breath, calming. ”Sorry.” 

”It's okay, don't worry about it.” She paused, glancing towards the door. 

The shadow was gone. 

She got up with a deep sigh. ”I'll get you a drink, maybe a light meal.”

He nodded numbly, looking at his hands in his lap, and Jillian couldn't help but brush his hair back before she quickly stepped outside. 

The hallway was busy, visitors, nurses and doctors passing each other, everyone seemingly having somewhere else to be. Nobody even took notice of Tony Stark among them, at the elevators, pushing the button impatiently. Jillian quickly strode over to him, grabbing his arm when the door slid open and he went to enter. ”Where do you think you're going?”

He looked up at her, almost startled, dark circles surrounding his eyes and his skin pale. ”I need to leave.”

”Oh no, you don't.”

The elevator door closed again.

He shrugged out of her grip angrily and spit, ”I need to get some air.” 

Jillian went to stand in front of the buttons, halting him from calling for the elevator again. ”You stop this right now. Are you aware what just happened?”

Tony glared at her. ”He told you what's been bothering him.”

”He told _me_ what's been bothering him,” she repeated. ”Not _you_ , not Pepper, not even Happy. _Me_. And he barely knows me.”

”So?”

”So … you told me he's usually shy around strangers. Apparently, he needed this badly enough to throw that out the window.”

Tony scoffed, putting his hands on his hips. ”Right. I failed him again. Is that what you wanna tell me?”

”This isn't about _you_ , Tony.” She stared at him in disbelief. ”You can't leave now. He _needs_ you. _Now_.”

Tony shook his head. ”He'll hate knowing I overheard.”

”Yes,” she replied bluntly. ”He'll have to get over it. Tony, he will never repeat to you what he just told me. It makes him seem weak and he doesn't want you to see him like that. He idolizes you.”

He huffed a laugh. ”Believe me, not anymore.”

”Yes, he does. But if you don't go in there and let him know that you know what's going on in his head and that you believe in him and that you still want this, you will _lose_ him. If he doesn't learn to trust you even with his insecurities, he will stop trusting you altogether and we both know how that can end.”

Tony ducked his head, his expression pinching in pain. When he looked up at her again, the pained look hadn't vanished. His anger had faded, though. ”I ...” He paused and then explained, “I don't know what to say to him.” 

Taking one of his hands, she sighed in relief. ”You don't need to say anything, Tony. Words can only do so much.” She rolled her eyes, trying a smile. ”And God knows you're awful with them.”

He hesitated, his gaze traveling down the corridor towards Peter's room.

”Tony,” she said, waiting for him to look at her with wounded eyes, ”this shouldn't be such a hard decision.” 

Tony stood there for a moment longer, his face oddly pensive. Then he walked away from her, away from the elevators and back to Peter's room. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jillian followed him at a slower pace, pausing in the doorway. 

Tony was standing at Peter's bed, his face set into an expression of anguish.

Peter stared up at him, his features cleared of any traces of his minor break-down. Instead, he looked slightly worried. ”What? What's wrong?”

Tony didn't answer for a long moment. ”I heard,” he finally said.

”You heard what?”

Tony ducked his head and didn't answer. 

Peter didn't need him to say it, though. He made the connection himself. His lips pressed together, his expression becoming closed-off, his shoulders tense. ”Oh.” Jillian admired that he kept his eyes on Tony in that moment. His body language pointed towards Peter wanting to look elsewhere, shrink away … but he caught Tony's eyes and held them. He looked like a culprit ready to receive a verdict.

Tony huffed a breath and sat on the edge of the bed jerkily. ”Can we agree on one thing? One thing only. We should be able to manage that.”

Peter nodded, looking uncertain. ”Okay.” 

Tony didn't say anything for a long moment, his fingers clenching and unclenching several times. Then, ”You're my kid.” 

The silence following that statement almost hurt in its suddenness, Peter's eyes widening slowly and Tony staring at him, his features frightened. 

“Is that … is that okay?” he asked hoarsely. 

It was an offer he was extending, not for the first time but probably with more conviction than before, and every second that went by without Peter reacting only increased the tense set to Tony's jaw and shoulders. Finally, Peter's face twisted, but before Jillian could see whether tears were gathering in his eyes again, he reached out and Tony reacted without thinking, pulling Peter into a hug. Peter's hands latched onto Tony's button-down, the fingers of his good hand curling tightly into the cotton while his broken hand pressed against Tony's back. Jillian thought she could see him tremble, see his shoulders hitch. 

Tony's hand tangled in Peter's hair in response, keeping him close. ”Okay?” 

Peter turned his head a little, his hand brushing tears from his face stubbornly as he replied, ”Yeah. Okay.” 

”Everything else, we'll figure out later. But _that_ ...”

”Yeah,” Peter said. ”Agreed.”

Tony smiled, his hands framing Peter's face for a moment before he pulled him into another hug. ”Agreed.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

When they entered the penthouse, Tony nodded towards the kitchen niche. “Sit down.” 

He saw Peter obey hesitatingly, dropping his backpack next to the kitchen island and choosing the chair closest to the hallway. Tony got a bottle of water out of the fridge, knowing he wasn't really thirsty as such, but hoping that the feeling of _something_ in his hand would distract him from wanting to pour himself a drink at the bar. For a moment, he remained standing with his back to Peter, taking a few breaths, trying to decide how to start. When he turned around, Peter was looking at him from his seat at the kitchen island, his hands folded in his lap and his shoulders hunched. 

Tony cleared his throat. “I trust you to be able to handle your own problems. I don't dig, I don't push. But if you can't, I expect you to come to me.”

Peter nodded. “I know. I'm sorry.”

”Do you have _any_ idea what would happen if you accidentally push or hit too hard?”

”I was careful.”

”You lose control in fights, Peter. You're not wearing a mask at your school. You hit too hard, you hurt someone earnestly and _everyone_ will know you're not a regular teenager. Some of them will have no trouble to connect the rest of the dots to find out you're Spider-Man.” He paused. “I'm trying to keep you away from the Sokovia Accords. I'm lying to Ross every single time he asks me about Spider-Man's identity and whereabouts. Don't ruin it over some stupid argument at school.”

Peter's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “I didn't _start_ it. I tried to _stop_ it.”

”It doesn't matter, Peter,” Tony answered. “You can't get involved in these kinds of situations, period.” 

He waited for Peter to nod reluctantly, his arms coming up to cross over his chest. 

Tony could tell that he was annoyed, his dark eyes expressing what he didn't say. Tony in turn got annoyed that Peter _wasn't_ saying anything. It was just another example of Peter not being open with him, keeping something back, biting his tongue … the frustration Tony had swallowed for weeks was struggling to find an outlet. “Who _did_ start the fight?” 

Peter looked away. “Does that matter?”

”Yes, it does.” Tony waited for Peter to respond but when he didn't, he hazarded a guess. ”It was Harry, wasn't it?”

Peter glared at him. ”Mike provoked us.”

”But Harry threw the first punch, didn't he?”

Peter ducked his head and pulled his shoulders up. It was enough of an answer for Tony.

”Right,” he said. “I don't want you to see that kid anymore.”

Peter's anger turned into disbelief and, to Tony's surprise, hurt. “Why?” 

”He's a bad influence.”

”Do you even _know_ him?”

”I know enough _about_ him, Peter. Google his name and you'll find that every _tabloid_ in this country knows enough about him.”

”Every tabloid in this country claims to know enough about _you_ ,” Peter replied.

Tony had to admit that he'd walked right into that one, but that didn't change his opinion. He usually trusted Peter's judgment, but he wasn't thinking straight at the moment. Harry Osborn's problems started with underage drinking and went as far as rumored trips to various rehab facilities during summer vacation. Once or twice, Tony had even heard about a suicide attempt about a year ago, which had been prevented by Norman returning early from a business trip. He didn't know whether it was true but still … he wasn't going to let Peter end up in yet another situation in which he lost someone he cared about. ”You keep away from him,” he said, turning to head for the workshop.

”No.” 

Tony stopped and turned back around. Peter was standing, with his arms crossed and his shoulders squared, pulled up to his full height. He was still shorter than Tony, still smaller, but there was no mistaking the challenge. Tony hadn't seen him like this in quite some time. 

_'There you are,'_ he thought unwittingly. _'Hey, Spidey.'_

“He's the only one at that stupid school who's not looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. I won't avoid Harry just because you tell me to. You not liking him has got nothing to do with him being a bad influence. You're just pissed because he's Norman Osborn's son.”

Tony stared at Peter, taken aback. ”There's a reason you shouldn't get close to them, Peter.”

”Don't pretend this is because of the spider bite,” Peter replied. ”This is about _you_.”

”I'm trying to protect you, Peter.”

”Like you tried to protect Scarlet Witch?” Peter asked. ”And Hawkeye? And Falcon?”

Tony stared at him, dumbstruck. ”What?”

”You lied to me!” Peter said heatedly. ”About Germany.” He looked surprised for a moment as if he hadn't wanted to bring it up. But his words were out now, standing between them. 

Tony felt the walls closing in on him, his hand clenching around he bottle. He'd hoped it wouldn't happen like this. 

He wasn't proud of his actions at the Raft, had even been relieved when he'd heard that Steve had broken the others out. To him, Germany had been about stopping Steve and the others, taking them in for questioning, getting them to either sign or retire … Tony had known that from the start and he'd gone into the fight with that goal in mind. The Raft, however … he hadn't expected Ross to go that far, to dig up all the dirt he had on Wanda, Clint, Sam and that Lang guy, to justify putting them behind bars for an undetermined length of time. 

His biggest mistake had been to accept it. He'd felt bound by the Accords, never one to take back a signature, intending to hire an army of lawyers to find loopholes to get them out instead of using brute force, which would have made all of them fugitives in the end. Steve hadn't had such qualms. 

Tony had never told Peter about all of this, vaguely mentioning that the others had decided not to sign and go dark. For Peter, Germany had been a simple mission aiming at getting Steve away from the toxic influence of Barnes. It had been a mission to get the Avengers back together. Peter had been enthusiastic and excited about the whole trip even several weeks _after_ they'd returned to New York, and Tony hadn't had the heart to take that innocence from him. He'd also been scared that Peter would actually start to side with Steve, should he ever learn. 

Now, he wished he'd told Peter earlier, would have given him his side of the story. It was too late, though. 

He took a breath. ”It was Natasha, wasn't it? What did she tell you?”

”The truth.”

”Or her version of it.”

”So you didn't throw them into the Raft?” Peter stepped closer. ”All this time, you made me believe that it was Captain America who broke up the Avengers. That you're just a victim. But it was _you_!” He swallowed and Tony thought he saw tears in his eyes before Peter blinked them away determinedly. ”You are the one who destroyed the Avengers.”

Tony shook his head. ”I didn't lie to you, Peter.”

”You said that we were saving them! That Captain America was being blindsided by a serial killer!”

”And that was true,” Tony answered.

”You said there were going to be questions, interviews. You didn't mention a super-villain prison in the middle of the ocean!” Peter paused, ducking his head. His hands clenched to fists and he made a noise, something that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed gasp of pain. Before Tony could ask whether he was alright, Peter was looking at him again, his dark eyes standing out against his pale skin. “You betrayed them. It's not supposed to be like that.”

“Christ,” Tony muttered and sank onto one of the steps leading up to his workshop. ”Is that the reason you let yourself get pulled into that fight at school? Because you were angry at _me_?”

”I don't want to talk about the fight at school,” Peter answered. ”I want to know why you lied to me.”

”Peter, things didn't play out the way I had hoped they would and I ...” He shook his head. “I thought it better not to tell you.”

Peter stared at him. ”That's it?”

”What more could you possibly want, Peter?”

”I want you to try and fix it!” Peter's voice broke at the end of the sentence and he turned away, one of his hands brushing through his hair and tugging at the dark strands impatiently.

Tony shook his head. ”I can't.”

Peter turned around to look at him. ”Why?”

Tony couldn't find the words to tell him that he didn't have the courage to call Steve. 

Peter waited for almost a full minute, his arms crossed and his dark eyes not leaving Tony's for even a second. Then, he seemed to accept that he wouldn't receive an answer and ducked his head. Tony could still see the way his expression twisted into one of disappointment and grief, though, and a knot settled in his stomach, clenching around his heart and constricting his lungs. “Peter …,” he said, but he was interrupted before he could continue. 

”You know what? You were right. That Mark 46 isn't worth my time.” With that, he turned around to leave.

”Peter.” Tony got up and followed him as Peter entered the elevator. ”Peter!” The door slid closed before he could reach it. ”Fuck.” He turned around and caught sight of Natasha just entering the living area of the penthouse from the hallway. She looked apologetic, so he assumed that she'd heard enough to know what had happened. The knot in his stomach loosened, anger crawling up his throat. ” _You_ ,” he said.

”Tony-” 

”You had no right to tell him!”

She remained calm in the face of his rage. ”He asked. He had quite a number of questions, Tony. I didn't know you hadn't told him anything or I would have never mentioned it in the first place. Once I did ...” She stepped closer, her hand reaching out for his shoulder. He backed away. Natasha crossed her arms. ”There was no reason for me to mince my words, Tony. He deserves the chance to form his own opinion. The Accords concern him as well.” She glanced towards the elevator. ”He'll calm down. He'll be back.”

Tony turned away from her, heading for the bar, but he froze when he saw Peter's backpack slumped against the kitchen island. “Oh shit,” he muttered, picking it up and rifling through it quickly, clenching his hand around Peter's phone as he found it. ”He better be,” he said, more to himself than to Natasha. ”I've got no way of tracking him down if he isn't.”

***

It had started to drizzle a while ago, but aside from zipping his hoodie closed and pulling the hood into his forehead, Peter hadn't done anything to get out of the bad weather. The orange light of the street-lamps a few stories below him had become watery and blurred, the sidewalk and street gleaming wetly, people hurrying along tucked away under umbrellas or with caps and hoods pulled low, car headlights reflecting in the puddles on the tarmac. Peter was sitting sideways at the top of a fire escape, his back against the rail on one side and his left leg braced against the rail on the other, while his right foot dangled over the edge. 

He shivered as the water started to find its way through the hood, trickling down his neck. Closing his eyes for a moment, he remembered the last time he'd been _this_ soaked through, May's sad eyes and her arms warm around him, not caring that she got wet as she pressed him close against her best black dress.

_”It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be fine, sweetie.”_

He'd left without a word after the service while May had still been talking to people, unable to bear the looks and words. Nobody there could _possibly_ understand what Ben had meant to him, to May. He'd walked out of the funeral home and into the rain and turned up at the wake three hours later. May hadn't hesitated to hug him close. 

_”Just don't leave me,”_ she'd whispered. _”I need you right now.”_

His eyes found Avengers Tower a few blocks away, its lights only some among many others, the _A_ at the top glowing stubbornly as if nothing had changed, even though everything had. 

After his fight with Tony, he'd spent a couple of hours wandering around aimlessly, the argument replaying in his head again and again. Bringing up the Raft hadn't been his intention. He'd wanted to wait for the right moment. But then the fight at school had happened and Tony had pushed the wrong buttons and his anger had just come bubbling forth. With it, the pain in his head had increased until he could barely breathe, could barely _see_ , could barely _**think**_ and his body had urged him to escape, _**quick**_ and _**now**_. 

His headache had calmed once he was outside, and his thoughts had cleared along with it, and he'd started to feel bad for what had happened. Part of him was ready to go back and apologize but another, stubborn part of him - the part that was very much Spider-Man, the part that had basically become an _accomplice_ in all this - refused. 

He felt betrayed. 

And also guilty and stupid. 

He could have asked more questions instead of following Tony blindly. He'd just been too awestruck to do so. 

Peter's path had led him to the library and he'd warmed up there while reading up on the Sokovia Accords until they closed and ushered him outside with concerned glances and the question whether he needed a phone to call somebody to pick him up. He could have gone home then, _should have_ gone home. The library had closed at midnight and even though Tony had never explicitly set a curfew, Peter knew that he'd broken it. 

However, something had drawn him _here_ and he'd settled down to wait for the one person he could talk to that knew what it was like to gain powers unexpectedly and involuntarily. 

It took another hour and Peter had almost decided to give up and go home when he heard the footsteps he'd been waiting for. ”Spider-Man?”

Peter turned his head. A shadow melted away from the others, the streetlights catching in the dark red of his suit. He got up, noticing that his sneakers hadn't kept the water out as well as he'd thought. ”Daredevil.” He looked up at him as he approached, knowing he didn't have to hide his face around him. Daredevil was unable to see him and at the same time, any mask as tight as Peter's was useless against the sense that had replaced his eyesight. Daredevil had probably a fairly good idea of what Peter looked like. Peter on the other hand had nothing more than Daredevil's chin and lips to go on. They'd never revealed their real names to each other and Peter didn't know what Daredevil did in his life away from the suit. He guessed that Daredevil was well-educated and very intelligent, though. 

Daredevil's voice was low and gravelly as he spoke. ”I'm glad to know that you're alright.”

”I've been out of touch,” Peter said. ”I'm sorry.”

Daredevil tilted his head in acknowledgment. He had a kind of dignified air around him. Peter sometimes felt like he was talking to a Jedi rather than a fellow vigilante. He'd said as much once and Daredevil had just huffed a laugh and told him that Peter had just confirmed a theory he'd had about his age. _”You're too young for this.”_ He'd almost looked a little sad after he'd said that, but he'd never brought it up again.

“Rumor has it that Spider-Man went missing,” Daredevil said.

”I hung up the suit,” Peter replied. ”So, that's kinda true.”

“Any particular reason?”

Peter knew he didn't have to tell him, knew that Daredevil didn't expect him to answer. It didn't really matter anymore, though. Plus, he trusted Daredevil. He'd given Peter some training and guidance after they'd met for the first time, just three months into Peter's time as Spider-Man. ”I lost my family. What was left of it, anyway.”

Daredevil was quiet for a long moment. ”I'm sorry to hear that.” He put a hand on Peter's shoulder, a warm point of contact against his chilled body. ”Are you set up alright?”

”I'm staying with Iron Man.”

If Daredevil was surprised, he didn't show it. ”I figured the story about the adoption was some kind of ruse.”

”Well, it isn't,” Peter replied. ”He really did apply for the adoption.”

”And you're fine with that?”

”Yes.” 

”And yet, you're out here in the middle of the night because ...”

Peter swallowed. ”I need you … I need you to tell me something.”

“Whatever you need.”

”The Sokovia Accords … what do you think about them?”

”I think they were created to keep a list of people like us under the pretense to form some kind of alliance.”

Peter nodded slowly. ”So you're against the Accords?”

”I'm against anybody I didn't choose to reveal myself to knowing who I am. Lists can be stolen and sold. Information is power and my identity could endanger people I care about. I'm also against the idea of standing on some list they can consult should they need a scapegoat for crimes in Hell's Kitchen committed by an Inhuman.” 

Peter frowned. ”You think that will happen?”

”I think it _can_ happen.” He tilted his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. ”I'm sorry I can't give you a more positive answer, Spider-Man.”

”That's okay.” Peter took a breath. ”It's just … I wanted to know what you think.” He shrugged and glanced towards the Tower. 

Daredevil's hand closed around Peter's shoulder again, firmer this time. ”You will want to be careful who you side with on this.”

Peter looked at him, his eyes narrowing. ”I'm not siding with anyone.”

”I'm just saying, you should continue to ask questions, search for various opinions, especially now that you're living with Stark. You shouldn't take anything at face value. He's supporting those who are against us.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You're saying that because you don't like him.”

”Yeah, I don't like him.” Daredevil straightened. ”It's still true. The Sokovia Accords and the Registration Act … he's not speaking out against them.” His lips quirked into a smile. ”You're clever, though. You'll figure out where to stand on this. Don't let me guide you, but don't let him guide you either. Make up your mind on your own.” 

With that, he turned away and vanished into the shadows.


	8. Chapter 8

**NOW**

 

There was dried blood on the polished floor of the penthouse's kitchen niche, two of the bar stools turned over, one of them only having three legs left. When Tony walked towards the stairs leading up to his workshop, glass crunched under his shoes, the windows to Bruce's lab shattered in some places. There was blood at the top of the stairs as well, a red handprint left behind where fingers had curled around the banister. Tony's workshop was a mess of turned-over workbenches. Tools, notes and parts had spilled everywhere, the Mark 46 no longer hanging off the hooks in its corner, but lying on the floor limply, several bullet holes in its chest plate. 

Tony looked took it all in for a long minute … and was surprised he didn't feel anything. He was just numb and exhausted, grateful that Peter had left this wreckage alive, though it gave Tony chills even _trying_ to comprehend what had happened in the forty minutes Peter had been alone with the attackers. Three against one and no way out because the penthouse had been locked down. And yet, Peter had survived, had been able to stand by Tony's side until … _until_ …

Tony trudged back downstairs and towards his bedroom, hesitating in front of the door for a second before he walked further. 

The door to Peter's room had come off its hinges. The chair at the desk was overturned, the lamp smashed on the floor next to the laptop, which was showing the unmistakable damage of somebody stepping on it. 

Tony turned away and pulled the door closed as good as possible before he went to his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor after he'd kicked the door shut. He fell onto his bed, breathing a deep sigh of relief as his muscles finally relaxed while his nerves remained jittery. He frowned at himself, shaking his head. Peter was _fine_ , they were both _fine_ , _everything_ was _**fine**_ … he closed his eyes and pushed a hand under his pillow, sleep already starting to claim him. 

”Tony.” 

He jumped and reared back, staring up at Natasha. ”What the …” He looked at his bedroom door which was now wide open and then at the alarm clock on his bedside table. He couldn't have been asleep for longer than a minute. “I thought you'd left.”

”I went to see an old acquaintance and now I'm back.” She pushed her hair out of her forehead and settled on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other gracefully. 

He saw now that she was holding a tablet computer in one hand. His curiosity was piqued … his exhaustion won. He closed his eyes and shook his head, relaxing back into his pillows. ”Okay, see you later.”

”Tony, we need to talk.”

” _Now_?” he asked, squinting to meet her eyes. He tried to ignore that he was only wearing socks and his boxers. He felt a little self-conscious, knowing he wasn't bad-looking but next to Natasha – or Thor – anyone would feel inadequate. ”I really need some sleep.”

Her earnest expression didn't allow for any argument. ”Now. It's important.”

He sighed deeply. ”Fine.” Sitting up grudgingly, he leaned back against his headboard. 

She dropped the tablet computer into his lap. 

He glanced at her and unlocked the screen, staring at the picture of a young, handsome man with a friendly smile, his brown eyes looking into the camera happily. He wore a green military uniform, a green beret covering his short blond hair almost entirely. Tony could see parts of the Canadian flag in the background. ”Who is this?” 

”His name is Wade Wilson. Born and raised in Canada, orphaned in his early teens, abusive family background. He served in the Canadian army, then Special Forces, was seen as being quite smart and having a lot of potential, but he lacked respect for authority. He decided to leave and lend his talents to paying customers.”

”He's a mercenary?” Tony tried to think back to his meetings with clients of Stark Industries, back when he'd thought selling the best weapons was his greatest achievement in life. He couldn't remember this man, but that didn't have to mean anything. There had been many clients, even more meetings and a lot of alcohol.

”Yes. Worked assassinations, protective details, whatever was requested.”

Tony looked at her. He didn't recognize Wilson, but he knew one thing for certain. ”He wasn't one of the guys who broke in here.”

”No.” She took the tablet computer from him. ”He was the one who executed the guy who broke in here.” She handed him the computer back and he looked at the grainy black-and-white picture of a man leaving the premises of the Tower. He seemed to be wearing some kind of combat gear: a suit which looked gray and black through the lens of the camera, guns strapped to his thighs, a heavy belt around his waist and additionally some form of harness carrying what looked like two swords on his back, their hilts easily reachable over his shoulders. 

His face was unrecognizable, a mask painting black shadows around his eyes covering it entirely.

Tony cleared his throat hesitantly. ”You're sure?”

She nodded. ”Do you know him?”

Tony shook his head. 

Natasha reached out to flick to the next picture, this one in color, though just as grainy, showing the same man sitting on the edge of a bridge and watching traffic pass by on the highway below almost lazily. The suit was red and black, Tony noticed. On the mask, the black circled white lenses where the eyes should be.

”This is from a traffic camera,” Natasha explained. ”Meet Deadpool, Wade Wilson's version of Iron Man.”

”He's enhanced?”

”Yes. But he's not exactly your wholesome vigilante from next door. Wade Wilson became Deadpool through experimentation, his mutation was caused by torture. He's got a healing factor strong enough to make him seem immortal, but his mind is not all there anymore. His mutation and the torture left him unstable. My acquaintance's best guess was that he suffered some form of psychotic break. He's got no self-control, he's volatile and extremely brutal. A danger to others and himself. He's known to be suicidal at times and apparently, he talks to voices in his head.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. ”Charming. What does he have to do with me?”

”Deadpool was created by a genetic research program called Weapon X. They're … scientists. The mad kind. They're trying to create living weapons and recent years have provided them with enough material to make some progress in that area.” She shifted, almost uncomfortably. “Deadpool was one of their pet projects before he decided he'd had enough of them and destroyed the facility he was held in. He also killed a high-ranking member of Weapon X but they're just like H.Y.D.R.A. Cut off one head and two new ones emerge. He's been busy tracking down other facilities for over a year now.” She paused and Tony tensed. Hesitation on Natasha's side was never a good sign. ”Here comes the hard part.” 

He nodded for her to continue when she threw him a questioning look.

”There was a Weapon X-division setting up shop in an abandoned factory at the harbor a while ago. My acquaintance says that Deadpool is suspected to have killed all twelve members and then set the building on fire to destroy any documentation and evidence. Almost nothing was recovered. _This_ was an exception.” She flicked to another picture. The thing was an almost shapeless lump of metal that had melted and bent under the heat … but it looked familiar, tugging at _something_ in Tony's mind … until he recognized it for it was. The gloves the metal was usually attached to had burned in the fire, but the thing still had the distinctive form of a brace fitting around a wrist, so that the trigger rested snugly in the palm of the hand. ”A web-shooter. Peter's original model.”

Natasha nodded. ”The police found two at the scene, but they couldn't identify what they were. One thing's for sure, though, Peter's web-shooters were in that factory during the fire. Which means ...”

Tony swallowed. ”Peter was there. He told me he was getting in over his head with something when he just got his powers, he told me he was saved by … by _someone_ who has been following him around the last few days.” What Natasha had told him about Weapon X started to sink in and he gasped. ” _What_ did you say they do? Experiments on humans?”

She nodded, her face pale. ”That would explain Peter's fear of hospitals and doctors.”

Tony stared at the picture of Deadpool looking like he actually considered jumping off the edge of the bridge onto the highway. ”So Deadpool saved Peter's life?”

”Looks like it, doesn't it?”

”And he's been following him around. He killed one of the guys who attacked us.” He met her eyes. ”Why?” 

”Tony, motivation is a tricky topic with Deadpool. He could have a good reason … or he could've just been bored.” 

Tony's fingers tightened around the tablet computer, thinking of Peter and Pepper in the hospital with only Happy there as protection. ”Do you think he would harm him?”

Natasha considered his question for a moment. ”To be honest, I don't know for sure, but I think not.”

”Because he saved him back then?”

”No.” Her green eyes looked at him steadily. “Because if he had _wanted_ to, he would've already done it. If he had come to kill Peter, he would have already succeeded.”

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

Tony's fingers clenched around his empty glass of scotch when he heard the elevator door open. He didn't turn around to Peter, remaining at the rain-speckled panorama window overlooking the ocean of lights that was New York at night. He didn't say anything either, not acknowledging Peter's presence in any way. He didn't know _what_ to say, didn't even know how to _feel_ … there was remorse about their fight but also anger and indignation because Peter had left him standing, because he hadn't taken his phone with him, because he'd stayed away for hours and it was almost three in the morning and _anything_ could have happened … anything … and Tony wouldn't have known until it was too late … he saw a faint reflection of Peter coming to stand a few steps away behind him, hovering. 

Peter almost whispered when he spoke. ”Hey.”

Tony turned around to him. Peter's clothes were plastered to his body and he was shivering, wiping the wet sleeve of his hoodie over his face as if that would help him get dry. Tony forced himself not to focus on that, not to let worry overtake his anger. “Hey?” he asked. ”Have you checked your watch recently?”

Peter pulled his shoulders up. ”I'm sorry, Tony.”

”Where have you been? It's the middle of the night.”

”Just … out.” His dark eyes caught Tony's pleadingly. ”Just walking around. I wasn't … I didn't get into trouble.”

”You didn't take your _phone_ , Peter. If anything had happened to you ...”

Peter ducked his head, crossing his arms. ”I forgot the phone,” he whispered. ”I noticed too late and … I'm sorry.”

”You're aware that enough people out there know your face now, right? If anybody would have recognized you, would have shot a picture or taken a video … you're so far past curfew that it's not funny anymore.”

Peter's eyes flashed in anger when he looked up at him, his jaw tightening. ”I said that I'm sorry. What am I supposed to do?!”

”Stop _saying_ it!” Tony snapped. ”And start acting like you _want_ to be here.”

”But I _do_.”

”Really? Peter, stunts like this could actually risk the adoption being approved. We can't draw attention.”

”I'm _trying_.”

”Are you?” Tony asked. 

Peter raked his hands through his wet hair and tightened his fingers, tugging in a way that was sure to hurt. 

Tony turned away from the display, striding over to the bar to refill his glass instead. ”Sometimes ...” He hesitated, not sure whether he should say it at all, but then he did. ”Sometimes I think you'd rather be anywhere else.” 

When he turned back to face Peter, he was struck by how unwell he looked in the bright lights of the penthouse, his face pale and the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. ”That's not true.”

”Isn't it? Because you seem to think I'm kind of a disappointment.”

Peter grimaced and slumped back against the couch behind him. His voice was so soft it barely carried over the distance between them. ”I didn't mean it like that.”

”How did you mean it?”

”I'm ...” He crossed his arms and met Tony's eyes. ”I'm one of them, Tony, it's different for us.”

” _'Us'_?”

”Inhumans.”

”You're not an Inhuman, Peter.”

”Mutant, enhanced, however you want to call it, I'm not … normal. I can't get rid of that. And Scarlet Witch can't either and what you did was shitty. She was trapped like an animal. They all were, but the Raft was harder on her because of what she is and you knew that, didn't you? You knew she was being treated differently.”

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. ”I didn't put them there.”

”You didn't _stop them_ from putting them there.” 

Tony emptied his glass, pouring himself another one.

”You _could have_ done something and you didn't and that means you're responsible as well. That's how it works.” 

”That's not how it works, Peter.”

It was quiet for a moment, then Peter asked, ”What would you do if they found about me? If they wanted to put me behind bars like that?”

Tony shook his head, not even having to think about the answer. ”I wouldn't let them. And I tried to protect her. I tried to keep her safe. She chose to leave and expose herself.”

”She chose to be herself, you mean,” Peter answered. 

”Things are a little more complicated than you think, Peter.”

”And I'm too stupid to understand?”

”That's not what I'm saying.”

”Too young? Too … low-profile?”

”You never asked, Peter!” he snapped. “You never asked about details of the mission, you didn't question-”

”I should have! I might have found that Captain America's got a point.”

The words formed a blow lower than Tony would have ever thought they would. ”Well, Captain America is not here,” he said. ” _I_ am. If that's too hard to deal with for you, maybe you shouldn't be here at all.”

Something in Peter's stance shifted, his eyes flitting to the side for a second, his shoulders slumping … then he stood upright again, looking Tony in the eye as if he'd imagined the short display of weakness. ”Maybe I shouldn't.” He turned to go.

The words cut deep, reopening old wounds he'd thought he'd patched up after Steve had pretty much told him their friendship didn't mean a thing … and before Tony could keep a hold of himself, he said, ”You stop right there. I'm not done with you.”

Peter froze and turned back around to him, waiting.

”You're grounded. Effective immediately.”

Peter went still, staring at him.

”You go to school, you come home. And no workshop privileges either.”

Peter's hands balled to fists and his eyes closed for a moment, then he said slowly, ”Tony, tomorrow's Friday. You said I could sleep at Ned's place.”

Tony had forgotten about that. He hesitated, unsure, but then shook his head. ”First of all, tomorrow's already today, it is _that_ late. Second, you should have considered that before staying out until the small hours.” He turned away from Peter, effectively dismissing him and hoping he would just leave. Tony felt like the air was too thick to breathe, his head pounding. The alcohol was starting to have an effect on him, shortening his patience and lowering the barriers he'd erected around his frustration and fear. 

He had to get Peter as far away from him as possible.

Peter, however, did not get the message. “Why am I being grounded? Is it because of staying out late or because I said I might agree with Captain America?”

Anger and hurt burned hot and fast, causing him to slam the glass hard enough onto the bar that it cracked. ”That's enough, Peter!” It came out louder than he'd intended and apparently louder than Peter had Tony ever expected to speak to him because he jumped, taking a step back, his eyes wide and his posture tense. Tony didn't take the time to feel sorry for yelling. Instead, the fact that he'd failed at yet _another_ thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't do to Peter only made him angrier. ”The guy you are rooting for so strongly isn't perfect either. Do you actually think I didn't try to fix this? He turned me down because it was more important to him to save his serial killer friend. You think he was fighting for the freedom of all people with powers? Everything he did was about Barnes! He showed the world what people with powers are capable of in the worst way possible with the worst timing possible. I was trying to _contain_ it! I was trying to keep Ross off their backs by getting him to send me in, by trying to keep control of the situation because I knew, if Ross would go after them, it would end worse.” He gasped, his anger leaving him gradually. He leaned against the bar tiredly. “I tried, Peter. Fixing this. He wouldn't let me. He found his friend from back then and suddenly, his other friends didn't matter anymore, what he represented didn't matter anymore.” He swallowed and met Peter's eyes. ”I'm not saying I did everything right but I _tried_.”

Peter ducked his head, breaking eye contact. His arms tightened around himself. There were tears in his voice when he said, ”I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know.” He shook his head and looked up at Tony. ”I'm sorry.”

Tony nodded slowly. He just felt tired now. ”Just … go to bed.”

Peter turned away, but then paused and faced Tony again. ”Can't I … Tony, can't I go to Queens tomorrow? Just ground me after. I …” He pulled his shoulders up, looking small and tired and in pain. “Please.”

”You're grounded for one week,” Tony answered. ”Just reschedule.”

Peter looked at him for a long moment, on the verge of saying something, but in the end, he didn't, just nodding. 

Tony swallowed. “It wouldn't be a punishment if it didn't hurt,” he said and he squeezed his eyes shut against how much he sounded like his father. He saw that the words had hurt Peter and tried to soothe the wounds. “You can have the workshop privileges back in three days.”

Peter cleared his throat. ”I don't care about the workshop privileges.” He turned and left. 

Tony looked after him for a long time, then he grabbed a new glass and poured himself another drink.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) This took a while to write and get as right as possible. I'm sorry for the delay. I also restructured everything a bit, so this story has now only one chapter left and that one is going to up the rating a bit as I've decided to include the scene in which Peter and Deadpool meet for the first time.  
> 2.) Everyone who is going to get to see Homecoming this coming week is so lucky! Germany has to wait until 13th of July, even if we want to see the original version (which I'm gonna do, because judging by the trailer, the German dubbing looks like it's really, really bad).  
> 3.) Peter being the little kid in Iron Man 2 has been my head-canon for ages. It doesn't matter whether the movie will confirm it or not (apparently, Tom Holland stated it was true and then kind of backpedaled?).  
> 4.) "Solnyshko" is Russian for "sunshine". Or at least I hope it is. I don't think Google would lie to me, though.

**NOW**

 

They'd covered the stitches in Peter's forehead with a band-aid, the bruise trailing from his temple to his cheek stood out against his pale skin, as did the line of bruises on his throat and the cut were his lip had split open. 

Peter looked small and frail leaning against the wall of the private elevator leading up to Tony's penthouse, dark smudges under his eyes from the sleepless nights at the hospital clearly visible in the brightly-lit cabin. His good hand was resting over the wounds in his stomach, curled into the thick cotton of his hooded sweatshirt, while his broken hand was hanging down limply. His eyes were closed, his shoulders slumped and his breathing was becoming deeper and slower the longer the ride lasted. 

Pepper threw Tony a _look_. The one she usually used when she wasn't happy with his decisions. He knew she didn't like that they were taking Peter home only three days after he'd first regained consciousness, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Tony had made the decision and Jillian had supported him. It made perfect sense, too, Tony had tried to explain to Pepper, with Peter being so scared of medical environments. Jillian had even managed to get the hospital on her side, ditching her original idea of claiming she was transferring Peter to a private facility in favor of arguing with his obvious past trauma. Peter was stable enough that the hospital hadn't fought her too hard on it. 

Tony was only now realizing that convincing them he was okay had probably taken the little energy Peter had been able to gather in the last few days. 

Stepping closer to Peter, Tony slid an arm around his back to keep him from falling asleep where he stood. “Hey. Almost there.”

Peter leaned into him in response. “'kay.” 

Pepper crossed her arms over the dark raincoat she wore. ”I'm not happy about this, Tony.”

”It's going to be fine.”

”It's too soon.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “It's okay. I'm fine.” The elevator stopped and Peter slumped against Tony a bit more, his sneakers scuffing against the floor as he stumbled, his good hand reaching out on instinct and finding Tony's leather jacket.

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “I saw that.” 

Tony tightened his grip around Peter and led him out of the elevator. “Jillian's going to keep an eye on him.”

”It's not that I don't trust Jillian,” Pepper said, “but it's been only three days. I think we're moving a little fast here.” 

Peter unexpectedly halted when Tony turned him towards the hallway. ”Couch.” 

Tony frowned. “You'll be more comfortable-”

”No.” Peter didn't look at him, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, but his hand was curled tightly into Tony's jacket and his body angled away from the hallway – from his room – and towards the seating arrangement in the open-plan living area. “Please.” 

Tony and Pepper exchanged a look. Pepper moved first, quickly heading down the hallway. She returned with a thick woolen blanket and a pillow quicker than Tony and Peter could reach the seating arrangement, choosing the couch facing the TV as Peter's makeshift bed. Peter gingerly sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. Shrugging out her coat, Pepper sat next to him, brushing his dark hair out of his forehead and resting the palm of her hand against the pale skin.

“He's fine,” Tony said.

Trying to toe out of his sneakers, Peter added, “Just very tired.” He pulled a face when he didn't manage to get out of his shoes, his toes getting caught in the frayed hems of the old pair of jogging pants he was wearing. 

Tony crouched down to open them, slipping them off gently. “Better?” he asked. “What about your sweater?”

Peter shook his head. “I'm cold.”

Pepper stepped out of the way when Tony helped Peter to swing his legs onto the couch. While Peter tried to get comfortable, Tony shook out the blanket, tucking it in as good as possible. “You want Netflix?”

Peter shook his head. “Just wanna rest.”

”Okay,” Tony said, putting the remote control within Peter's reach either way. He saw Pepper hover near the kitchen niche, her arms wrapped around herself tightly. She ducked into the hallway when she noticed Tony looking at her, the sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood floors fading away. 

“Will you be around?” Peter asked.

“Yeah.” Tony shook himself, shifting his attention back to Peter. ”Sure. I might be in the office or the workshop, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. can help you call for me. Don't get up if you don't feel like it, okay?”

Peter nodded, his fingers curling into the blanket. “Stay a minute?”

”Sure.” 

Peter closed his eyes and relaxed back against the pillow before blinking tiredly at him again. “We don't know who they were working for?”

Tony shook his head. “And you shouldn't worry about that right now.”

”I do.” Peter swallowed. “If we knew who they were working for, we could do something. Like this, it's as if we're waiting for them to come back.”

Tony reached out to brush a thumb over the bruise on Peter's temple. “They won't dare anytime soon.” He sighed. ”You know, if they'd managed to get access to my systems … I've got a copy of an old S.H.I.E.L.D. database on there with a list of enhanced people. The algorithm that F.R.I.D.A.Y. used to find Spider-Man and others is in there. There are blueprints and formulas for Avengers technology, some stuff I did for S.H.I.E.L.D. ...” He trailed off. “You saved more than just my life. Nice work, kid.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment, almost hesitantly. ”That's ...” He cleared his throat. “That's what you said to me when we met for the first time.”

Tony frowned in confusion. ”Is it? I can't ...”

”You don't remember,” Peter said.

”I …” Tony grimaced. “I don't.”

”2010.” 

”What?” 

”Stark Expo.”

”I remember that thing was my PR department's worst nightmare.”

Peter smiled weakly. ”You saved my life. I stood there like an idiot facing down a robot with a plastic Iron Man mask and repulsor and I thought … I _actually_ thought it would stop them.” He shook his head. ”I wanted to be like you. Of course, all I _did_ do was scare May and Ben.”

Tony's heart skipped a beat when he actually _did_ remember. The kid with the Stark Expo t-shirt and the Iron Man merchandise, tiny and defenseless and surely not older than ten, looking at the drone looming over him without a sign of fear. ”I remember you. Pretty impressive.”

”That's not what Ben said.” A sad look passed through his eyes. “I thought he was so angry at me. He didn't yell or anything, he never yelled, he was just ... distant. May cried and she wouldn't let go of me but Ben was just ... silent.” He took a deep breath. “He didn't mean to hurt me. I never really got it until later. That he wasn't angry.”

”He was scared,” Tony said. “And he didn't want to show it, so he kept his distance and pushed you away.”

Peter stared at him, pressing his lips together. He whispered, “ _I'm_ scared.”

”Of what?”

”I don't know. That I'll mess up, that you'll realize you don't really want to do this, that somebody who's got something to say about this will decide it's not a good idea, that you'll …” He released a shuddering breath. “You almost got shot. What'll happen if ... I can't ...” He shook his head and there were tears in his eyes. “I can't do that again.”

Tony ducked his head, not sure how to respond.

“I can't,” Peter said again.

“You won't.”

”You don't _know_ that.”

”No, I don't. But you can't worry too much about it, Peter. If you spend your time worrying too much about what _could_ happen, you miss out on everything that actually _does_ happen. The good things, too.”

Peter looked at him miserably.

”Don't let that happen, okay?”

”Okay,” Peter answered, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. 

Tony got up. “Get a bit of sleep. You need it.” 

By the time he returned from the kitchen to set a glass of water within Peter's reach, Peter had already drifted off, a worried frown still cut into his forehead, but slowly smoothing out. Tony watched for a few minutes as Peter's features relaxed into sleep entirely, glad that Peter was finally able to relax enough to allow himself the rest. He hadn't got much sleep at the hospital, too nervous to relax properly and too anxious about taking medication to help him relax, fearing it would cause another panic attack. However, for his healing factor to work properly and not just keep him stabilized, Peter needed sleep and due to the extent of his injuries, a lot of it. It was one of the reasons Jillian had wanted him home as soon as she was sure that he wasn't in a critical condition anymore. 

Tony left his jacket in the kitchen, whispering to F.R.I.D.A.Y. to lower the lights a bit to allow Peter to rest, before he wandered down the hallway to find Pepper. The door to Peter's room, now put back on its hinges, was open. He found Pepper sitting on the foot of the bed, her head turned to stare out the window at the gray afternoon outside. Tony paused in the doorway for a moment, watching Pepper in the fading light of the day, her blond hair flowing down her shoulders. She was wearing one of her more casual outfits – a dark-blue shirt and black jeans – a clear indicator that she wasn't intending to go to the office today. Tony wondered whether she intended to stay with him and Peter overnight. The thought settled warmly in his chest, even though he knew … he knew that if she intended to do so, it would be for Peter's benefit. Not Tony's. 

Not anymore.

“Hey,” he said. 

He saw her move her hand over her face before she turned to look at him. She gave him a smile that seemed a bit shaky. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No. I'm not.” She looked around the room. “You cleaned up.”

”Yeah. As good as new.”

”You're not planning on letting him settle back in here, are you?”

Tony remembered Peter's reaction from when they'd entered the penthouse, the slightly panicked way he'd insisted on sleeping on the couch. The fight had not just taken place in Peter's room, but something in here had happened that had apparently left a mark. ”I haven't thought about it yet, to be honest.”

She took a breath and shook her head. “You're not,” she said. “I've just decided.”

”Okay.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants and stepped closer to her slowly. “Thanks, Pepper.” 

She looked up at him with a bland smile. ”You're welcome.”

”No, really,” he said, “thank you. For looking out for him.”

Her expression faltered, becoming earnest. ”It's no problem, Tony. Peter's ... it's no problem.” She got up, her arms crossed tightly. She was close enough for him to smell her perfume – flowery, light, something with citrus. She was holding his gaze, her chin tilted up slightly towards him. He hesitated, leaning in slightly, then drawing back, unsure … she rolled her eyes. “In case you were looking for the right moment, this was it.”

“I ...” He pulled back a bit more and huffed an embarrassed laugh. “Pepper, I don't think it's a good idea to ... right now, with Peter and ... to rekindle … us ...” He brushed a hand through his hair. “I mean ...”

”Oh my God!” she interrupted him, shocked. “Not _that_.”

”Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh …” He gave a quick smile. “Well, this is as awkward as it can get.”

”It was the right moment to tell me that Peter is Spider-Man.”

”And it just got even more awkward,” he muttered.

Her eyes had narrowed. “You must really think that I'm stupid. Peter coming into your life shortly after Spider-Man did? Spider-Man going missing after May's passing? I didn't know immediately, but I figured it out, Tony.” She shook her head. “And you have to explain to me one day just what you were thinking,” she said, pointing a warning finger at him, “to equip a child for a fight and sending him out there in nothing but a spandex suit.” 

He took a step back. ”Okay, that hurts. It's not spandex.”

”What is it? Vibranium?”

”Well ... not exactly, but it's enforced and it's not like ...”

She was glaring so hard that he stopped speaking for a moment.

Then, he hesitantly offered, “I'm sorry?”

“What the hell, Tony? Just when I think that you reached a new level of maturity-”

”Hey now,” he interrupted her. “I could have _not_ made him the suit and the equipment, but that would have left him with a freaking track suit. It's not like me equipping him _started_ it.”

”It _encouraged_ him!” she snapped. “God damn it, Tony, you should have stopped him!”

”There was no stopping him! Don't you think I considered it? Because I did, as soon as I saw that he is too young to drive a car, I thought about flying over there and putting a stop to it, but it's not that easy! He _wanted_ to do this, he _needed_ to do this, and I cannot stand there and tell him not to when I know exactly how that feels.” 

She turned away from him, one of her hands combing through her hair in agitation. When she turned back around to him, she seemed to have calmed down a bit. ”Did he sign the Accords?”

”No and he won't. Not right now, maybe not ever.”

She sighed. ”God, Tony …”

”I know.” He swallowed. ”Believe me. I know he's young. I know he's ...” He shook his head. ”It's his choice, though. Putting on the suit … we have to let this be his choice.”

She pressed one hand against her mouth, her eyes watering. 

But she nodded.

***

 

**BEFORE**

 

The t-shirt Peter was wearing was blue and the iconic symbol of Captain America's shield on it was irking Tony ever since Peter had turned up in it for breakfast. He'd swallowed a comment, though, instead offering Peter some of the scrambled eggs and bacon he'd been in the mood to make. They didn't say much, Tony reading the paper on his tablet computer while Peter browsed through his Chemistry book. The silence wasn't a companionable one as usual, though. The tension of yesterday's fight was still there, tangible and putting a strain on what little they did say to one another. 

It continued during the ride to school, Tony focusing more on driving than necessary and Peter staring out the passenger window as if he was looking for something specific on the crowded sidewalk. 

They arrived early at Rochester Academy, the gates to not even open yet. Tony pulled into an empty parking spot facing the school and turned off the ignition, letting the silence settle for a moment before he said, ”I'll pick you up right after.”

Peter nodded. “Okay.”

”I won't have much time, though. I've got a business thing tonight,” Tony continued.

“Okay.”

“I won't be home until late,” he added. ”Can I trust that you'll stay in the penthouse?”

Peter shot him an angry look. ”Yes.” 

Silence descended again stifling and churning in Tony's stomach like acid and maybe he shouldn't have had breakfast, he felt kind of nauseous now and …

”I'll wait in front of the gates,” Peter said unexpectedly and gripped the door handle.

”Peter,” Tony said, but he didn't know why. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to apologize, he didn't want to take the punishment back … he just wanted Peter to understand ...

”I'll see Harry,” Peter interrupted his thoughts. ”Ground me longer, whatever. I won't stop seeing him.”

”That wasn't what I was going to say.” 

Peter paused, looking at him. 

Tony took a breath, deciding to run with the topic since Peter had brought it up already. There were a few things he had to get off his chest in regards to Harry. ”Just be careful, okay? It's got nothing to do with me and Norman. Harry's … he hasn't been the same since his mother died and he's overcompensating. I should know what that looks like.”

”Maybe he needs a friend,” Peter replied.

Tony swallowed, his chest tightening and his hands clenching around the steering wheel. ”Maybe,” he answered, feeling guilt crawl up his throat. ”I hadn't considered that.” He hadn't had one. Nobody close enough to stop him from hurting himself anyway. Not after Edwin Jarvis had died, not until Rhodey had come along. His mother had tried but no matter how close they were, Tony had always kept part of his guard up around her because she'd always tried to make him understand his father, to see past the cold exterior. 

And Tony hadn't wanted to.

”Did you know her?” Peter asked softly. “Harry's mom?”

Tony pulled himself from his thoughts and cleared his throat. ”Yes, I did.”

”What was she like?”

”Smart, beautiful, a real lady. Harry looks a lot like her.”

”How did she die?”

Tony cleared his throat, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. ”She suffered from depression. It already started in her early teenage years. She ... killed herself. Harry was ...” He thought about it. ”... about three or four years old.”

Peter was quiet for a long time, watching the guards open the school gates.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Peter finally said. “Sure.”

Tony clenched his hands tighter around the steering wheel, deciding to breach what he'd wanted to say after all. “I want this to work,” he said slowly. “For you, I mean.” He could see Peter turn his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze firmly on the school gates. “So if it doesn't ... if you think that you'd rather stay away from all this, away from the tabloids and private schools … and the Avengers ...” He trailed off.

“You wouldn't mind?” Peter asked.

Tony swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “Whatever you need.”

”But would you mind?”

Tony closed his eyes. “I want you to be happy, Peter.” He shook his head. “I'd like you stay, though.” Before Peter had the chance to answer, he cleared his throat and started the engine. ”They're opening. I'll see you later.”

***

The music blared into Peter's ears, drowning out everything around him, the stress slowly bleeding away, the tension in his shoulders lessening. He had settled down at the desk in his room with his laptop and a notepad, deciding on getting some extra credit at school, since he had the time. Their math teacher had given them the address to a website with complicated challenges a week ago already and Peter had spent the last twenty minutes trying to solve one of them. Focusing on the numbers and equations, on calculating and jotting down notes and considering various approaches … it helped letting go of everything else just as much as tinkering in the workshop did. 

It helped that Tony had left twenty minutes ago and he hadn't seen Natasha at all today. He wondered whether Tony had asked her to leave, but he hadn't dared to bring it up. Right now, he felt more comfortable knowing he was alone anyway. 

Suddenly, his laptop screen, having switched to the screen saver about ten minutes ago, flared to life in the corner of his eye. He saw a grainy black-and-white video feed from the Avengers Tower entrance hall, recognizing Tony in front of the private elevator leading up to the penthouse. Knowing that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had probably tried to catch his attention by using the image, he pulled the earbuds out. ”Fri?” 

_”Peter, we have a request for entry.”_

”It's Tony, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

_”Though facial recognition is confirming this, the retina scan was inconclusive.”_

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. ”Patch me through.”

_”As you wish.”_

”Hey, Tony,” Peter said.

Tony looked up at the camera. _”What the hell is going on?”_

”I don't know. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said the authorization isn't 100% alright.”

He saw Tony shake his head in exasperation, looking off to the side. _”Yeah, there seems to be a bug. Could you let me in?”_

Peter hesitated for a split second. F.R.I.D.A.Y. wasn't prone to bugs. At least not in her security features. Tony had updated his security system completely after Ultron.

_”Peter,”_ Tony said impatiently. _”I forgot my wallet, come on.”_

”Yeah, just a second,” he said. ”F.R.I.D.A.Y., it's okay.”

_”Very well,”_ she answered and the video feed switched off, bringing the website back on the screen. Peter rubbed his eyes tiredly and switched on the desk lamp, putting his earbuds back in and releasing a breath. 

However, his concentration was hard to find again. His headache, after being moderate all day, increased all of a sudden, pounding against his temples. ”What's wrong?” he whispered. He got up from the chair and went to the window, looking at the lights of the city around him. ”Is that _you_?” 

He slapped the blinds closed and settled back at the desk, staring at the numbers. Unable to stand the noise at the moment, he switched off the music and took the earbuds out, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. 

When the door to his room was pushed open, he startled, turning around to Tony. ”Hey, is everything ...”

There was a flash of pain at the base of his nape, sudden but familiar, and Peter's body reacted by raising his hand catching the fist that had been headed for his face. 

Peter gasped and stared at Tony in confusion, who had gone still, seeming surprised.

”Tony?” He already knew he was dealing with somebody else. Some kind of impersonator out to do some kind of damage.

Anger made its way onto Tony's face and he kicked Peter in the stomach, sending him back against the desk. Peter barely caught himself against the edge of it before letting himself drop to the floor as Tony tried to land anther blow. Peter rolled to the side and away, getting tangled in the cables of his laptop and desk lamp in the process, both of which landed on the floor as he managed to jump to his feet. 

Tony didn't hesitate to attack again, his foot stomping on the screen of Peter's laptop as he approached. Peter ducked one hit, turned to avoid another and caught Tony in the stomach with his elbow before landing a punch in his face. Even though Peter hadn't put all his strength into the hit, it had been quite strong, but Tony remained standing, wiping blood from his lip as he regarded him quietly, assessing. Peter planted his feet and raised his fists, ready for Tony as he attacked again, this time with more determination, as if he'd only played with Peter up until now. 

Peter reacted instinctively, meeting the attack head-on. Tony fought swiftly and brutally, no hesitation in his steps and punches, using every opening Peter left. He was clearly a trained fighter, ruthless and graceful in a way Peter had only seen Black Widow fight up until now. Peter landed a few punches himself, but unfortunately, he had never had any formal hand-to-hand combat training. Spider-Man hadn't passed his time battling trained fighters. Most of his adversaries had been neighborhood criminals relying on guns, knives and some karate lessons at the most. Spider-Man's biggest advantage had always been his web-shooters, something that Daredevil had already warned him about several times. So it didn't come as a big surprise to Peter that he was quickly backed into a wall by Tony. 

He used it as leverage, slapping his palms against it and kicking Tony in the chest with both feet as he approached, and while he was still stumbling and catching himself, Peter jumped to cling to the ceiling and deliver another kick to Tony's face, making him stumble back into Peter's chair, tripping and falling to the floor. Peter swung himself to land next to Tony, kicking him in the stomach to turn him over onto his back before he planted one knee in Tony's stomach and one hand against Tony's sternum, pinning him to the floor.

”Who are you?” he asked but before an answer could come forth, Peter's danger sense flared again and he turned to block what he assumed was another hit from a person behind him. However, his arm came in contact with something hard and unyielding instead of a fist or an arm and he screamed when pain raced up his arm, his muscles feeling they were burning, twisting … then it stopped and Peter fell to the floor, gulping in air. 

He couldn't move.

”Is this kid causing you problems?” another voice asked smugly. 

Peter coughed, tears making their way over his cheeks, his throat feeling dry, his muscles limp and not under his control. 

”He's a fucking freak,” Tony answered angrily. ”Give me that.” 

Something was jammed into Peter's back and then the pain started again, shorter this time but still as intense. As soon as it let up, he was attacked yet again … then again. He tried to crawl away from it, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. He sobbed in relief when it finally ended for good.

A third voice spoke hesitantly. ”That was kind of unnecessary.”

”You try and get punched in the face by him and we'll see whether it's fucking necessary,” Tony spat. “And I swear he stuck to the fucking wall and ceiling like freaking Spider-Man.”

There were three of them. Three. Peter curled his fingers to fists against the carpet, pulling his knees in to protect his stomach.

The second voice chuckled. ”Figures. He'd adopt a freak.” A large hand grabbed Peter's t-shirt at the collar and he was lifted, staring into the clean-cut, handsome features of a man twice his size. ”Now, kid, don't cause us any more trouble.” He held up a taser, the two prongs glimmering threateningly. ”This has _got_ to have hurt.” 

”He's still conscious, though,” Tony muttered. “Freak.” 

The man holding Peter glared up at Tony. ”Shut up for a minute, will you? I'm talking to the kid.” The way that Tony bit his lip and crossed his arms defiantly without answering made Peter suspect that the man holding him was the leader of the group. The third man by the door was lankier than the other two, clutching a laptop bag and carrying a backpack. The leader smiled at Peter and he shuddered, pedaling his feet against the floor to try and get away but his muscles didn't quite comply with him. ”I'll make you a deal. You sit still and shut up and don't bother us while we do some work around here and in return, we won't use this,” he brandished the taser, ”again.” 

Peter couldn't keep his head up any longer. It dropped forward, only stopped by the taser under his chin, lifting it to look at the man again. 

”Do we have ourselves a deal?”

Peter licked his lips and took a breath to answer, his voice coming out hoarse and cracking, ”F.R.I.D.A.Y., lockdown.”

_”Voice recognition positive. Initiating lockdown.”_

The lights went out and Peter could hear the penthouse powering down. Only emergency lighting remained, bathing the penthouse in a soft, gentle glow not unlike the night mode.

A flashlight was lit by the door, strong and blinding in the darkness. Peter looked at the man who was holding him, the stony features not giving away what he was thinking. He forced himself to speak. ”No deal. Every door, every connection, every cellphone signal is cut. If the lockdown isn't lifted within the next fifteen minutes, an alarm will be sent to Iron Man's cellphone and you won't get out of here before he comes home.”

The leader laughed and looked up at Tony who was standing next to them with his hands balled to fists and his face set into an angry scowl. ”Kid's got balls.” When he looked at Peter again, the smile had vanished from his face. ”No deal,” he confirmed before letting go of Peter and jamming the taser into his ribs.

***

The stuffy warmth of Gotham Hall made Tony want to escape. The constant smiling and chatting and taking pictures made him feel cornered and annoyed rather quickly. There was a time when he'd been able to attend these kinds of events and feel part of the crowd, just one of the representatives of New York's high society, but that had ended quite some time ago. 

Now, it just made him feel tired. 

He moved to the edge of the room, having left Gareth to talk to the mayor and his wife, and checked his phone for messages. All he wanted to do was go home, but he knew that he had to stay and talk to Norman Osborn about the joint-venture sooner or later. Pepper would be furious if she got off the airplane in Paris and learned that Tony hadn't kept his word.

“Are you avoiding me?” somebody asked and Tony turned to find Norman standing right next to him. He wore a tuxedo that made his shoulders look even broader, making him appear more imposing than he actually was. 

”Norman,” he answered with a smile, accepting the glass of wine Osborn was offering him. ”Of course not.” He took a sip. ”So nice to see you here.”

”Right,” Norman answered as if he knew that Tony was lying. ”Where's Mr. Olson?”

”I have no clue. He might be at the buffet by now.”

”You're hiding from him, aren't you?”

Tony shrugged. ”Maybe a bit.”

Norman quirked a small smile. ”Are you really _that_ opposed to our companies joining forces?”

”I don't know, Norman. You don't seem to be overly eager, either.”

Norman chuckled, tucking one hand into his pocket. ”I don't mind student interns getting together to be honest. Might spark some new ideas.” He raised his glass in Tony's direction, as if to make a point. ”Evolution, Tony. That's what business is about.”

Tony snorted and shook his head. 

”That's not the reason I came over here to see you, though.”

”Isn't it?” Tony asked, surprised to see Norman's smile fading.

”It seems like we have stumbled into a little _situation_.”

Tony frowned in confusion. ”Did we?”

”Our kids.”

Tony snorted and sipped on his wine. “Oh, yeah. How very Shakespearean of them.”

Norman's lips twitched into a smile. “Yesterday, Harry asked me not to take him off the school because he finally found a friend there. I haven't heard him say that in years. He never seemed overly interested in the other kids at the schools I sent him to.”

”Peter isn't exactly like the other kids,” Tony answered.

“It seems that way.” Norman sighed, a pensive look coming over his face. “Will he be a good influence?” 

”Excuse me?” Tony asked with a scoff. “I feel like _I_ should ask _you_ that question.”

Norman ducked his head. ”We both know the answer, it would be pointless.”

Tony nodded slowly. He gave a sigh. “Norman, Peter's a great kid. Raised by hard-working people who loved him a lot and made sure to turn him into someone who knows good from bad.”

”He sounds like the perfect addition to your little band of superheroes, then.”

Tony snorted. “Please. I know he's going to be a better man than I ever was. No doubt about that.” He became aware of what he'd said and looked away, cursing himself for uttering something that made him look vulnerable in front of Norman.

Norman didn't answer for a very long time, staring at the ring on his hand instead. When he raised his head to look at Tony, he was the most earnest Tony had ever seen him. ”I spent so much time trying to give Harry everything I thought he wanted that I overlooked what he actually needed. Me being gone a lot was never an issue with her still around but … losing her broke something that I wasn't able to replace because I didn't understand that what he needed was for me to be with him. I ignored it when he told me until he reached a point where he didn't dare say it anymore. And then a point where he didn't want to anymore.”

Tony sipped on his wine and Norman turned his head to look at the crowd moving past them, around them. They didn't speak.

***

Peter came to when he was grabbed and pushed against a hard surface.

”Hey!” 

He was slapped, the stinging pain rousing him enough to open his eyes blearily and notice that they were in Tony's workshop. Tony was glaring at him. It took him a moment to remember what was going on and that the guy currently holding him was not Tony at all. 

“Release the system, now.”

Peter blinked, noticing the leader at one of the workbenches standing behind the third man, who had connected his laptop to Tony's computer system with various cables and was tapping away frantically. Peter's muscles felt like jelly, limp and uncoordinated, hurting like they usually only did after a hard work-out. He winced. ”Only Tony can release the system.”

”That's a lie!”

Peter stared at him. ”I can't unlock the-”

Another backhand sent him to the floor, but Tony grabbed him immediately again and slammed him back against the wall, one hand closing around Peter's throat while the other pressed a gun against his temple. ”Be smart, Tiny.” 

A whimper escaped Peter unwittingly when Tony released the safety on the gun, his body tensing up in fright. 

Tony sneered. “Unlock the system.”

Peter pressed his hands against the wall behind him, making sure he had a good grip. The gun pressed harder against his temple, forcing him to tilt his head. He swallowed thickly, shifting his body weight to his arms instead of his legs. “No.” Before Tony could react to the refusal, Peter raised both legs and pushed them against Tony's chest, sending him crashing backwards into one of the workbenches. A shot came loose, hitting the wall near Peter's head. He jumped and attached himself to the Mark 46 hanging off its hooks in the corner, turning the suit to huddle behind it as if it were a shield when more shots were given off in his direction. Bullets ricocheted off the suit, into Bruce's lab and somewhere, glass shattered loudly. 

”Don't be stupid!” somebody yelled and the shots stopped coming, the last one hitting one of the hooks holding the suit and detaching it from ceiling. The other hook couldn't hold the weight hanging off it alone and part of the ceiling panel came down with it when it crashed, burying Peter under the suit, plaster and metal. 

”We need him as leverage when Stark turns up!”

”You catch him then!”

Peter was already on his feet and running, jumping towards the workbench holding his abandoned suit with a flip to land on his hands and pushing up to flip again, coming to stand on his feet with one of the web-shooters, which he clipped around his wrist quickly. He pointed it at the leader of the group, who had started to approach him with the taser in hand, and pushed the trigger. 

Nothing happened. 

He gasped and pushed the trigger again, but he device remained stubbornly inactive.

”Okay, that's quite enough,” the leader said, striding over to him. Peter dodged the taser, grabbing the leader's wrist and throwing him over his shoulder easily, wrenching the taser out of his grip. 

He turned to Tony, who was approaching him with rage on his face. His vicious attack didn't give Peter the chance to place the taser and use it, so he dropped it instead to have both hands free, blocking the punches while forcing his opponent backwards with the intention to get to the door of the workshop. When he got close enough, he jumped up to the ceiling and stuck to it with his hands, using his feet to push Tony away from him and through the window of the workshop onto the gangway beyond. 

Peter let himself drop and jumped through the broken window, but his arm was grabbed and he was pushed to the side, his back slamming into the banister of the gangway, winding him for a moment. His danger-sense reacted for him, making him dodge the punch of the leader, kicking him back with a foot in his stomach. 

When he turned to try and run yet again, he came face to face with Tony, who was ready for another attack. 

Peter cursed softly and tried to jump high to try and escape the two-sided attack, but one of them managed to grab his ankle and he hit the gangway hard, his head slamming against the banister as he went down. Black spots started to encroach in his vision and he could feel blood running down his forehead. He wiped at it quickly to avoid it getting into his eye before he turned on his back and jumped to his feet, staring at the two men approaching him. They were breathing heavily, their fists curled. Peter wished that the one impersonating Tony would take off his mask. It was possible that they needed it to leave the Tower undisturbed but they should have noticed by now that their original plan had failed. It was also clear, though, that they had no intention of giving up yet. 

Peter didn't either. He raised his fists. 

They attacked.

The fight became a blur of motion, action and reaction, pain catching him in his stomach, his back, his ribs, his face. He tried to inch backwards towards the stairs leading down to the communal area, a plan forming in his mind already on how to regain the upper hand, but he didn't dare turn his back on them to make a break for it. They had the gun, he couldn't let them out of his sight while they were this close, this unlikely to miss.

A punch to his jaw sent him back, rolling to regain his footing. He slammed against the banister where the gangway met the stairs leading down to the communal area. Peter abandoned the idea of running down the stairs, trusting his body to react by instinct. He wrapped his fingers, slick from wiping blood out of his eye, around the banister and jumped over it, landing on the hardwood floor below in a crouch. He didn't stop, getting to his feet and running. A bullet whipped past him and drilled into the wall. He leaped into the corridor, avoiding another bullet, and heard the men curse loudly behind him. 

It was time to regain some control. 

He slammed the door to his room and locked it, knowing it would keep them out for maybe three seconds longer, but any second counted. He ripped open the door to his wardrobe and got out the gym bag at the very back, tearing off the zipper in his haste to get to his old costume inside. His old web-shooters weren't as quick to fasten as the new ones, bulkier and heavier. As soon as he'd managed to get the first one around his wrist and tighten it to the point of being painful, he directed it at the door and shot some webs at it, hoping to keep it shut a little while longer. 

A gunshot took out the lock as Peter fastened the other web-shooter and he got to his feet and fell into a fighting stance when they shouldered their way inside. 

He got the leader in the face, sending him stumbling back into the wall hard enough to leave a dent with webbing covering his mouth and nose. Tony raised his gun at him, apparently no longer caring about whether to keep him as leverage, and Peter shot a web at it, snagging it out of his hand and throwing it away. He shot the next web at Tony's chest to pull him in close, just to punch him in the face. Tony didn't so much as pause, coming at Peter again immediately. Peter leaped onto the ceiling, holding onto it with his feet as he swung to deliver another punch, but Tony managed to dodge it and grabbed Peter's wrist, yanking him down from the ceiling and then ripping the web-shooter off his arm. Before Peter could raise his other hand, he felt the grip of the man tighten and then a painful twist that made him scream and sag, followed by a punch to his face. 

Peter landed on the floor breathlessly, dark spots dancing in front of his eyes as his wrist burned like fire and his lip started to ooze blood. A kick to his ribs had him scream breathlessly, a choked, little noise. Broken wrist, possibly broken ribs … he panted as he saw Tony loom over him, saw him raise his foot to bring it down on Peter's chest yet again and reacted without thinking. He shot out one web to the ceiling to pull himself up and kicked Tony in the face with all of his strength, making him stumble back and fall against the desk. Peter slumped to the floor, curling around his ribs before pushing himself up with his good wrist. His breaths were painful, catching in his throat and leaving him on wheezes. He cradled his broken hand to his chest and looked at Tony. 

At his dead eyes. 

He'd killed him. 

He'd lost control of his strength and he'd killed someone. 

A noise pulled him out of his shock, his ears picking up on something he'd waited to hear: the door of the elevator sliding open. Peter looked towards where the leader had fallen … and found him gone. 

As was the gun. 

_**Tony.** _

Peter stumbled to his feet and sprinted out of his room. He saw the leader step into line of sight of the elevator, raising the gun to fire at whoever would leave the cabin, and leaped towards him at the same moment that they were both thrown backwards. The collision with the kitchen island was painful but Peter forced himself to open his eyes. 

Tony stood just outside the elevator, one hand raised, the portable repulsor encasing his palm and fingers glowing brightly. He'd reacted before the leader got off a shot, catching Peter in the process. Tony and Peter only exchanged one short glance to make sure they were both okay before turning back to the attacker. He was still getting to his feet when Peter shot a web at him, which he dodged well enough that it only hit his shoulder. Tony's repulsor did more damage, throwing him off his feet. Peter followed, intending to web him to the floor, when he saw the guy lift the gun and point it at Tony. Three shots came loose just when Peter caught the guy's hand with a web and yanked it around, away from Tony. 

Pain ripped into his stomach, first distant and almost unreal, then gradually increasing. He stumbled back, his shaky hand finding the smooth surface of the kitchen island, which he leaned against gratefully, trying to understand what was hurting so much. 

There was a small, lithe shadow storming past Peter and engaging the guy on the floor in a fight, Tony following both of them with his hand raised. 

Somebody brushed past Peter, stumbling into him and almost knocking him off his feet. He met the startled eyes of the guy with the laptop bag as he ran past him. Peter turned to shoot a web and keep him from escaping, but all he did was collapse against the kitchen island and slump to the floor. 

His stomach was on fire. He looked down, finding his t-shirt dark and soaked with blood. A shaky sound escaped him, followed by more even shakier ones, his fingers pressing down on the wounds, blood oozing freely between them, from beneath them.

”Peter. No.” He was jostled when Tony fell to his knees beside him, their fingers entwining on Peter's stomach, slick with blood. He wasn't dying, was he? The thought made him sob and then he gasped when Tony pressed down hard and it felt like he was being torn in half. Peter's head banged against the kitchen island. He heard Tony make a soothing noise before he turned away, his voice cracking as he shouted. ”Natasha!” 

Peter gasped for air, it was getting so hard to breathe, and he tilted to the side, his forehead dropping against Tony's sternum. He reached up with bloody fingers, trying to find an anchor, something to ground him, to keep him breathing.

”It's okay, Peter,” Tony said, ”it's gonna be okay. I need an ambulance.”

Peter felt darkness close in, his limbs growing heavy, noises fading.

“Peter!”

He was shaken, hard, it jostled his wounds and it hurt but he couldn't find the strength to complain. He looked up at Tony but he could only see a blurry image of his scared, pale face before the darkness encroached again. He heard people talking but he couldn't understand them and then he was shifted and instead of Tony's aftershave, he smelled a light floral perfume and a soft hand was cupping his cheek. 

“It's alright, solnyshko.” 

Deft fingers released the clasps of his web-shooter and it was taken off.

“You'll have to be quick. He's bleeding out.” 

Something went under his legs and chest and he was pulled against cold metal. The movement sent a sharp wave of pain through him and he gasped. 

“It's three streets over. I won't need a minute.”

A gust of cold wind hit him and everything turned black.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry for the delay. RL caught up with me in a bad way and every bit of writing time was interrupted. But I'm finally done. :)
> 
> So excited for Homecoming. It's premiering on Thursday in this part of the world and I already have the tickets reserved! :D
> 
> **Be aware that this chapter contains strong references and implications of experimantion on humans with a minor being the victim. It's nothing too graphic, but still. Also be aware that there's quite a lot of blood and violence. You can skip these parts by not reading the paragraph titled 'Nine months ago'. The rating for the fic is now higher.**

**NOW**

 

_The ringing was annoying, distracting, getting louder the longer it lasted and cutting into the conversation they were having, the point Gareth was trying to make to both Norman and Tony about a potential joint-venture that Tony was still not entirely sure about. Norman frowned at Tony in slight disapproval and Gareth stopped speaking. He looked mildly irritated about the interruption when he asked, “Would you like to get that?”_

_Tony realized suddenly that the ringing came from his own suit pocket. He cursed softly. ”No, it's fine.” Getting his phone out, he was all but ready to reject the call. He paused upon seeing the screen, a lockdown alert of the penthouse blinking at him, with the countdown indicating that the lockdown had happened sixteen minutes ago already. Tony felt his heart skip a beat, his stomach twisting. It was close to impossible for Peter to cause the lockdown by accident and even if he had … he knew how to deactivate it before the alarm would be sent to Tony's phone. The fact that he hadn't ..._

_“Something the matter?” Gareth asked._

_Tony turned away from him without answering, dialing Peter's number. The phone rang for a minute with no answer given. His chest tightened further, the inkling that something was very, very wrong solidifying._

_“Tony.”_

_He turned around to Gareth, who was looking mildly concerned now._

_“Is something wrong?”_

_Tony clenched his fingers around his phone. “I have to go.”_

_”What?” Gareth asked._

_Norman frowned. “Is something wrong at home?”_

_Tony was hit with a wave of dizziness, the scene tilting strangely, the lights in Gotham Hall seeming painfully bright, the laughter and chatter of the people around them unbearably loud._

_Norman's frown turned into a twisted smile. “You know, I came home once and found Harry half-dead.”_

_“No,” Tony gasped, stepping back. “I need to go.”_

_A clicking sound and he whirled around to see Deadpool leaning casually against the wall, his gun pointed in Tony's direction, the disturbing white of the eyes in his mask seeming to smile teasingly. ”No need. I took care of everything.”_

_His phone slipped from his grasp and when he tried to pick it up, he noticed that his hands were slick with blood. “No,” he whispered and looked up at Deadpool. “Why?”_

_”'Cause I was bored.”_

Tony startled awake with a choked scream, his shaking hands brushing down his face as he gasped for breath. The air seemed too thick to breathe properly. He swallowed his nausea and set his feet on the floor, trying to regain his equilibrium. “Lights,” he said breathlessly and they flickered on dimly.

 _“Anything I can assist you with, Boss?”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked.

Tony breathed deeply, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. “Turn back time.” 

She needed a moment to process his words. _“I'm afraid I'm unable to follow up on that request.”_

”That's alright,” he replied. “I was just joking.” He cleared his throat, starting to feel better the longer he was awake. “Is Peter alright?”

_”Peter was awake thirty-four minutes ago. His breathing pattern and heart rate were indicating quite a lot of distress. He is resting again now.”_

Tony rubbed his forehead and got up, feeling thirsty. 

On his way to the kitchen, he made a detour to check up on Peter. He'd moved to the second guest room in the penthouse a few days ago, once he was deemed well enough by Jillian not to be on constant bed rest on the couch anymore. Tony's suggestion to switch rooms had been agreed upon by Peter immediately, which hadn't surprised him. It hadn't taken very long for Peter to suffer nightmares about the attack in general and the fight in his room specifically, the fact that he'd killed someone wearing Tony's face by accident had not gone past him without leaving a mark. 

Tony paused by Peter's door, noticing that it wasn't closed entirely, which was usually the case at night. He already knew that Peter wouldn't be in bed, but he pushed the door open softly nonetheless. The dimmed lights in the room gave enough illumination for Tony to see that Peter's bed was indeed empty and that two of his pillows had vanished along with him. He sighed and turned away, making his way to the front of the penthouse where the kitchen and living room were situated. He found Peter curled up around one of his pillows on the couch, the woolen blanket Pepper had found for him a few days ago pulled up to his shoulders and his earbuds in. An old laptop of Tony's that he'd found in a drawer to replace Peter's broken one was showing an episode of _Big Bang Theory_. Tony reached out and lowered the volume that was streaming through the earbuds, knowing that switching it off entirely would only wake Peter up. 

Two weeks had gone by since the attack and Peter had recovered almost entirely. His wrist was still on the mend and when he stretched or turned quickly, he felt pain in his stomach, but Jillian was positive that the injuries would heal within the next week. Peter would keep his cast on longer to keep up appearances, but Jillian had cleared him to go back to school tomorrow. Tony knew Peter was anxious about it. Everyone at school was sure to know what had happened, the tabloids having taken apart the official press release with glee, adding facts that weren't true and trying to reconstruct the night of the attack as if they'd been there themselves. Tony had thought about making a statement just to get them to shut up, but Pepper had advised against it, saying that he'd only pour oil into a fire that was slowly going out. 

She was probably right, he figured. 

That didn't stop him from being angry about the photographers and journalists lurking around the Tower, waiting to catch sight of Peter.

 _“You should think about making it official,”_ Pepper had said a few days ago. _“Introduce Peter to the media.”_ When Tony had started to protest, she'd interrupted him immediately. _“Tony, he has to learn to deal with this. You're protecting him, I know, but it's turning him into a big secret and you know how tabloids love to discover those. Take the wind out of their sails. I'm talking fifteen minutes in a controlled environment; maybe after a Stark Industries press conference?”_

Tony sighed and turned away. He knew Pepper was right. The media had been trying to get pictures of and words from Peter since the adoption had been made public. Maybe it _was_ time to make it official, satisfy their curiosity a bit. Tony also knew, though, that Peter didn't like the spotlight. And as long as the adoption had not been finalized, Tony himself was reluctant to push Peter into making any public appearances. 

He got a bottle of water out of the fridge and sighed deeply, leaning against the kitchen island. Besides, there was still a slight sliver of doubt about the adoption being approved. Joel had assured him several times that it was very unlikely, but _still_ … his thoughts were interrupted when F.R.I.D.A.Y. softly announced, _“Boss, he's back.”_

Tony paused. “Is he?”

_”Affirmative.”_

Tony closed his eyes.

_“How do you want to proceed? Do you wish to ignore him again?”_

Tony thought about it, then he shook his head. “I'm going down there.”

_”Which suit would you like-”_

”I'm going as myself,” Tony interrupted her. “I think I know what he wants.” He grabbed a jacket and shoved his feet into the first shoes he could find before taking the elevator downstairs, waving casually at the Stark Industries night receptionist who was chatting with one of the security guards as he passed. The guard made to follow him, looking slightly startled, but Tony waved him off. ”Just catching some fresh air.”

The weather outside was frigid, November approaching wetly and cold. It was three in the morning, the street busy, but not overly so. Nobody paid Tony much mind, he doubted that anybody was even paying enough attention to recognize him. The lights of the streetlamps and the surrounding skyscrapers were glittering in the slight drizzle, Tony's hair starting to fall wetly into his forehead. He pulled up the hood on the jacket and waited for the lights to turn green before he crossed the street, giving the man on the other side time to leave should he want to. He didn't, remaining mostly hidden in the shadows of an alleyway just opposite Avengers Tower. 

Tony stopped a few steps away, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Why don't you come in?” he asked. 

The other man raised his head slowly, the bit of illumination making it far enough into the alley to reach him glinting off the red armor he was wearing, his hands tightening their grip around the batons he was carrying. The red eyes in Daredevil's mask were looking right at Tony and in the dim light of the alley, he looked close to terrifying. He didn't say anything. 

Tony stepped closer. “You know, ringing the doorbell is generally the way to announce oneself. Lurking in alleyways like a stalker for eight nights in a row just doesn't cut it in my eyes.”

”I didn't come to see _you_.” His voice was deep and calm, though Tony heard an undercurrent of tension.

”I know. But the same doorbell would also get you in to see _him_.” Tony cleared his throat, looking around to make sure nobody had stopped to listen to them. “He's okay. Still healing, but making a full recovery.”

”He got hurt because of you.”

Tony looked at him. “He got hurt because he protected me,” he admitted. “Yes.” 

Daredevil tilted his head. “He risks his own life for you. You _must_ know that he idolizes you. You need to be careful what you ask of him.”

Tony took a deep breath. ”I know you're not a fan of the Accords. I won't ask him to sign them, if that's what you're trying to say. Not as long as he's a minor.”

”And after?”

”I won't answer that. I don't know what the Accords will look like in two years. I'm not entirely happy with them right now.”

”Two years?” Daredevil asked. Even what little Tony was able to see of his face – just his chin and mouth, really – showed surprise. 

Tony crossed his arms. ”Peter's fifteen.” 

Daredevil was silent.

“You didn't know.”

”I knew he's young. I suspected him to be a minor. I thought he'd be sixteen at least.”

”He will be next month.”

Daredevil shook his head. 

Tony waved a dismissive hand. “Don't think too hard about it. It'll make your head spin. The kid's got more good intentions in his pinky right now than I had in my whole life.”

Daredevil smirked, but his smile turned bitter after a moment. “He used to laugh a lot.”

“Yes. He did. It's hard to get a smile out of him these days.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, it's not necessary for you to keep watch. I've got it covered. I think you've got enough on your plate in Hell's Kitchen. I'd say come and visit, but I'd need a retina scan for that and I don't think you will go for that.”

”No.” 

”See? I was right.” He hesitated. “I'll tell him you were here. And I think he knows how to find you.”

Daredevil looked at him for a long moment, then he reached out one hand, his palm offered for a handshake. Tony hesitated for a moment, but then he accepted the gesture. As soon as Daredevil let go of him, he turned and melted into the shadows. 

***

Tony was stirring eggs in a plastic bowl when Peter sat up on the couch, dark hair tousled and eyes bleary from sleep, the blanket pulled around his shoulders tightly to ward off the chill of the morning.

“Scrambled eggs,” Tony said, “bacon, toast.”

Peter rubbed his eyes.

“Hungry?” Tony asked, though the question was unnecessary. Peter was rarely _not_ hungry, his fast metabolism burning through meals at lightning speed. However, his appetite was another matter altogether. When feeling sad or under pressure, Peter tended to avoid eating. It was unhealthy and Tony had come to see it as the first indicator that something was seriously wrong. Peter hadn't eaten much in the last few weeks, his appetite declining after they'd left the Avengers Facility and the headaches increasing at around the same time. Since Peter had come home from the hospital, Tony had kept him on a strict meal schedule. Peter's healing factor had needed the energy and Tony had had the time to enforce it, while under normal circumstances, they only saw each other in the evening after school and work.

Peter blinked at him. “'time is it?”

Tony smiled. “06:30. You've got plenty of time.” He moved to pour the eggs into the hot pan, starting to stir immediately. When he turned back around, Peter had folded himself onto one of the bar stools, his legs crossed and his elbows resting on the kitchen island and his healthy hand fiddling with a fork. Tony handed him a glass of juice and turned back to the stove to pile bacon and eggs on two plates, setting them onto the kitchen island and adding the plate with the pile of toast. He leaned against the island opposite Peter, preferring to stand while having breakfast. 

Silence settled over them for a few minutes, only interrupted by the sound of their cutlery, the rain hitting the panorama windows and the hum of the fridge. Tony caught himself feeling oddly domestic and content, something he'd felt the last time when sitting down for dinner with the rest of the team in the Facility, just a few days before his visit at the MIT. He caught Peter looking at him and smiled. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered, ducking his head to look down at his half-empty plate. “Thank you. For breakfast.”

Tony shrugged. “It's your first day back at school.” He sipped his coffee. “Are you nervous?”

Peter nodded slowly. “A bit.”

“It's gonna to be fine.”

Peter pushed his eggs around the plate. “I don't want them to stare.”

“They will have heard about what happened and they will have read the tabloids, Peter. They will stare.” He shook his head. “It's just curiosity, though, I wouldn't worry about it. Just ignore them. It'll stop. I should know, I've been through this.” He pushed his empty plate away and crossed his arms on the island, carefully breaching a more sensitive topic. “Is the new room not working out for you?”

Peter shrugged. “It ...” He swallowed and put his fork down. “It looks too similar, I guess.” His eyes found Tony's. “I dream ... about him looking at me with ... your face and ... dead.” He shuddered. “I wake up and turn on the lights and it's just ... like he's there. I know he isn't, but it's the same furniture in the same set-up and it ... reminds me.”

Tony nodded slowly. “I'm sorry, Peter.”

“It's not your fault.”

“We'll think of something else. Maybe I can move into one of the guest rooms and you take my room.”

“No!” Peter said quickly, looking alarmed. “Please. I don't want you to ... give up your room. There's enough empty rooms, like, one floor below.”

Tony shook his head, turning to refill his mug. “Those floors are part of the former Avengers HQ, Peter, not part of the penthouse.”

”So?”

”So, I want you to live up here, in the penthouse. With me.” He looked at Peter. “Okay?”

”Okay,” Peter answered, picking his fork back up.

Tony cleared his throat. ”I actually ...” He paused and then continued, ”I wanted to give you something.” He turned to the coffee machine, grabbing a plastic bag and an envelope he'd set down there when he'd entered the kitchen niche this morning and handing the bag to Peter.

Peter looked at it for a long moment, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Or how to tell Tony that he didn't want it. “What is it?”

Tony rolled his eyes. ”The whole point of the bag is for you to open it and find out.”

Peter unfolded the bag carefully. ”You already gave me a laptop.”

”It wasn't a _new_ laptop. It was a spare laptop I've had in my drawer for a year. That's not even a real present. This is actually something I bought for you. I thought you should have it.”

Peter opened the bag and peered inside before looking up at Tony, his face lit up by a smile. ”You bought me a Captain America t-shirt?” He fished it out of the bag, his fingers tracing over the image of the shield. It was the same t-shirt Peter had worn the night of the attack. It hadn't been difficult to find - Avengers merchandise was startlingly common - but Peter looked at it as if Tony had bought him an irreplaceable collector's item. “Thank you.”

Tony smiled. ”I hope I got the size right.”

”It's perfect. I ...” He looked a Tony. I-I know what it means for you to ...” He grimaced and then just repeated. ”Thank you.”

”I just want you to accept it, okay?” Tony answered. ”It's a gift. Don't make a fuss.”

Peter bit his lip and nodded slowly. ”Okay.”

Tony smiled. ”I also want you to accept _this_.” He handed Peter the envelope. When he saw him start to protest, he cut him off, ”It's not a gift. It's an investment.”

Peter looked at him quizzically.

”It's a bank account,” Tony said. ”It's _your_ bank account. Not sure whether you have one yet."

Peter shook his head.

”Okay, so ... I will deposit money into this one. On a regular basis, which is pocket money, and a little bit extra whenever I feel like it. And you can withdraw the money whenever you want.”

Peter frowned. “But ...” He trailed off.

”Look,” Tony said. ”I've always been good at spending money on people. I'm not … the sentimental type.” He sighed. ”But it's become clear to me that you don't like money being spent on you by me. Which is, to be honest, a bit frustrating.”

”It's not that,” Peter quickly said. ”It's not _you_.”

Tony raised a hand to stop him. ”I just don't want this to make you uncomfortable. So, this bank account is a buffer. I'm happy because I put money into it and you are happy because it's there when you decide you want to take it. For clothes or gadgets or whatever you want. The things you _need_ ,” he said, ”will keep coming from me, though. And I'll need you to come to me and tell me if it turns out that there's something you need.”

Peter looked at the envelope, then up at Tony. ”I can't accept this.”

Tony suppressed an annoyed groan. ”Why not?”

Peter swallowed, folding in on himself. ”You shouldn't-”

”I decide what I should and shouldn't do.”

”But you can't-”

”Peter, I told you already. You're my kid. That means I will provide for you.”

”Things I _need_.”

”Things you _want_ as well. Don't tell me that May and Ben only ever got you things you needed. What was Christmas like at your house?”

Peter closed his eyes. ”It's not that.”

”Then what is it?”

”You wouldn't do this if ... if May was still here. I can't ... profit from her ...” He ducked his head. “That'd be wrong.”

Tony stared at him, taken aback. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Is that it? The reason you ...” He trailed off. “Peter, you need to stop punishing yourself. You can't put your life on hold. May wouldn't want that.”

Peter looked up at him, his eyes shimmering wetly. “You barely knew her.”

“You did,” Tony answered. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

Peter looked to the side and tried to cross his arms, but the cast got in the way and he ended up looking miserably unsure. 

Tony let out a breath. “Hell,” he muttered and came around the kitchen island while Peter slid off the chair, meeting him half-way. “Come here.” Tony pulled Peter into a hug, feeling Peter's hands come up to rest against his shoulder blades, his healthy hand clinging to the shirt tightly. Tony heard him sob, a short, choked-off noise that was stifled before it could fully emerge. He closed his eyes. “Now I made you miserable,” he said, brushing one hand through Peter's hair. 

Peter shook his head and pushed away a bit. “You didn't. It's fine.” He wiped his cheeks, not meeting Tony's eyes. “I just ... you're right.” He released a shuddering breath. “She wouldn't want that for me. It's just ...” He trailed off, then he gave a teary smile. “I'm fine. It's fine.” A little softer, he added, ”I just miss her.”

Tony nodded. ”That's okay,” he said quickly.

”I know.” Peter gave a sigh and wiped his eyes again before he grabbed the t-shirt and, after a brief hesitation, also the envelope. ”Thank you.” Peter gave him a brief smile, this one a little happier, and suddenly, Tony found himself in a hug again. Before he could react to it, though, Peter was gone. ”I should get ready.” 

Tony looked after him.

***

_“You can't even see that something happened.” - ”He's got a cast.” - ”That's all? I heard he got shot or something.” - ”He got shot in the stomach. Of course you can't see it.”_

_”I heard he almost died.” - ”He **did** die. Like, during surgery. They brought him back.” - ”I heard he died **twice**.” _

_”Should he be back here already? He looks like shit.” - ”He always looks that way. He never smiles, too. I bet Stark's an ass.”_

_”I heard they tortured him for information.” - ”Don't be an idiot!” - ”His father's freaking Iron Man, it's not completely out there.” - ”As if Stark would give him any classified information.”_

_”I heard he fought them off.” - ”Doing what? Throwing books at them? Look at him, he's such a nerd.”_

_”He's lucky they didn't decide to kill him.”_

_”He probably cracked and gave them whatever they wanted.”_

_”I heard Stark's rethinking the adoption.”_

_”They're gonna take Parker away from him.”_

Peter turned the volume on his iPod up, drowning out the whispered chats of the students around him. The canteen was crowded at this time of the day and sometimes, it was playing havoc on Peter's enhanced hearing. Today, with all the whispers and the looks centered around him, it was worse than usual. 

He struggled with the tray and the cast, fumbling when he picked up cutlery, and walked to the end of the hall, not looking at anybody. There were always free spaces towards the back and Peter had made it a habit to sit by the window and read while he ate. 

Nobody bothered him back here. 

He sat, sighing in relief that he'd made the trip without dropping anything. Shrugging off his backpack, he looked around out of habit and paused when he caught Harry's eyes. He was sitting at a table on the opposite side of the canteen, a book open beside his tray and headphones over his ears. When he saw that Peter had noticed him, he quickly turned back to his book. Peter hesitated for another second or two, then he shouldered his backpack and picked up the tray, crossing the room to settle down opposite Harry. Dark eyes raised from the book Harry was reading, looking at him in surprise. 

Peter removed his earbuds. ”You expecting someone?” 

Harry pushed his headphones back to hang around his neck. ”No.” 

Peter nodded, picking up his fork. ”So, physics,” he said. ”I hear you're looking for a tutor.”

Harry smiled.

***

_Meeting's running longer. I sent a car to pick you up. Company driver. Not Happy, sorry._

Peter sighed as he read Tony's text while leaving school. He looked for one of the discrete, black cars Stark Industries owned and spotted one at the very edge of the parking lot. His phone buzzed and Peter stopped to check the text. 

_Are we on for Friday?_

He tapped out a response to Ned. _Yeah. At your place. Tony's dropping me off after school._

_Tell him not to come upstairs. My mom hates him._

Peter grinned, starting to walk again while he answered. _Your mom has never even met him._

_My mom loves you and you got hurt on his watch, so yes, she hates his guts._

Peter laughed. _See you then._

_Don't get grounded._

He was about to tuck his phone away when another text arrived. 

_Or shot._

Peter shook his head, quickening his pace. As he approached the car, he braced himself for the painfully formal, stifling atmosphere that came with having a chauffeur drive him around the city. While Happy always allowed him in the front, the company drivers insisted on Peter sitting in the back, where the tinted windows and the raised partition made him feel alone and uncomfortable, as if he didn't belong. 

He opened the door and got in, only glancing in the direction of the open partition. ”Hi.” 

There was no response. 

Usually, he got at least a formal greeting while they checked the rearview mirror to make sure that he was actually himself before starting the car and closing the partition. Peter got his iPod out of his backpack. 

The car didn't start.

”Are we waiting for someone?” he asked. 

As if on cue, the door on the other side opened and a man got in. Peter only had time to register jeans and a black hoodie jacket before his danger-sense started to tingle. It wasn't painful, it wasn't even really warning him of an impending attack. It was just there ... making its presence known. 

As if it didn't quite know what to think about the situation. 

The man closed the door and turned to face Peter, removing the hood as he did. He saw the red of a mask, black around the white of the eyes, and reared back, his shoulders pressing against the car door, the fingers of his broken hand fumbling for the handle. 

A loud clack let him know that the doors had been locked and the man raised his gloved hand, the car keys dangling teasingly from his fingers. ”Hello, baby boy.”

***

“I'm not surprised the new room isn't working out,” Pepper said as they entered the penthouse. 

Tony sighed, brushing a hand through his hair in agitation as he followed her to the kitchen niche. ”It's too similar to his old room, I know.”

”That's not it,” she replied, turning to face him, leaning back against the kitchen island with her arms crossed. Her expression was one of exasperation. ”Tony, when I told you that you shouldn't put him back into that room, I meant that it's too much of a guest room.”

Tony looked at her, trying to get her point, but failing. His penthouse was big, but most of the first floor was taken over by the open-plan living area, bar and kitchen, while the second floor housed Bruce's lab and Tony's workshop. Aside from Tony's bedroom, only two guest rooms and Tony's home office remained. Giving Peter one of the guest rooms had been the obvious choice, Tony admitted. The easiest choice. But the room was spacious, had all the basic furniture and Tony had thought that Peter could make it his own given a little time. ”So?” he asked.

”It's a _temporary_ solution,” Pepper answered. ”It's a room that you put somebody in while they _visit_. It's set up to be hospitable, but it's not comfy. And I just don't think it's set up for a teenager.”

Tony nodded. ”Okay, we'll change the furniture, have him pick something he likes.”

She shook her head, turning away to get a bottle of juice from the fridge. ”It's too big for him anyway. All his things don't fill up even half of it.” She tilted the bottle towards Tony questioningly, who nodded. She retrieved a second one from the fridge. “You _can_ actually have too much space.” 

Tony waited for her to hand him the bottle before he asked, ”Why don't you let me know where you're going with this? You already have a plan. I know you do.”

She smiled at him and came around the kitchen island to take his free hand, pulling him down the hallway. ”Way back,” she said, ”I was thinking about a good place for a nursery.”

Tony laughed. ”I think Peter's too big for a crib.”

”Shut up, Tony,” she replied, opening the door to his home office at the end of the hallway.

”My office?” he asked. 

”You never use it,” she answered, stepping inside. 

“Because it's _tiny_.”

”Says the man who gave me a stuffed bunny once that was three times as tall as I am.” She stopped in the middle of the room, putting her hands on her hips. Sunlight was streaming through the windows behind her, the rain having let up at around noon to give way to a beautiful, crisp fall afternoon. Her blond hair was shining in the light, the blue of her business dress accentuating her eyes perfectly. The sight made Ton's heart ache. ”It's not a big room, I give you that,” she said, ”but it's not tiny, either.” 

Tony's desk was situated facing the big windows, sitting on a little pedestal connected to the rest of the room by two steps. The walls were painted a dark blue, the dark hardwood contrasting with a cream carpet in the center, where a couch and two armchairs were grouped around a coffee table.

It didn't look anything like the guest rooms.

Pepper stepped closer to him. ”The bathroom of the guest room is right next door. It shouldn't be too hard to add a door and take out the one in the guest room to make bathroom en-suite.” She smiled at him. ”Peter can pick colors and the furniture. Start from scratch.”

Tony stared at her, stunned.

”What?” she asked.

“How much thought did you put into this?”

She shook her head. ”Not a lot.” Then she sighed, as if Tony had caught her doing something forbidden. ”I bookmarked some color schemes on my computer.” 

He kept looking at her. 

She shrugged. ”And maybe some furniture store websites.”

Tony couldn't help himself. ”I want you to be Peter's legal guardian.”

She raised her eyebrows, her voice catching on a disbelieving laugh. ”Tony,” she said slowly, ” _you_ are Peter's legal guardian.”

”Once the adoption went through,” he clarified. ”I'm going to file some paperwork. I already talked to Joel about it. I've got Rhodey as a back-up, but you should be the first in line.”

Her eyes widened. ”Tony-”

”Peter likes you and you … you care about him and the change wouldn't be too drastic for him – again – if I should … you're the closest thing he's got to a mother right now and you've spent so much time helping me setting this up and taking him in and I know you've got your own life to lead but he … he needs you.”

Pepper shook her head. ”I wasn't going to leave.”

”And I like you being around as well.”

”Tony-”

”I miss you.”

Pepper stepped away, shaking her head. ”Don't do this.”

His stomach knotted in dread. He reached out to her, but she shook her head, pulling away.

”Don't tell me that Peter needs me when it's really you who does. It's unfair.” She paused taking a breath. ”I never intended to step back. I'm aware that Peter has made me part of his family and I wasn't going to take this away from him.” She looked up at him. ”But that doesn't mean anything for _us_ ,” she continued. ”I'm sorry.”

Tony nodded slowly, turning away from her. ”Okay.” He'd already figured that she would say something like that, but some small part of him had still hoped … 

”Okay.” She caught his hand, squeezing gently. ”I'm going to go. I have a flight to catch.”

He nodded, but didn't turn around to her.

”Let me know what Peter thinks of the room?”

He nodded. “Sure.” He waited for her steps to fade away before he sunk into one of the armchairs, burying his face in his hands.

***

“You could rip that door open and break the lock in the process, couldn't you?” the guy asked, the white eyes of his mask widening in curiosity. ”There's quite a lot of brawn in those little fingers, isn't there?”

Peter's fingers were still curled around the door handle but he didn't move. His danger-sense was disquieted, but still not wailing in alarm. He was willing to wait this out for a bit. That didn't stop him from being tense and wary, carefully following every move the man made while pressing as far away from him as possible. “Where's the driver?”

”He's _fine_.”

”Where _is_ he?”

The guy stared at him. He seemed taken aback for a moment, before his mask crinkled where his mouth should be – a smirk. ”In the front seat. Taking a nap.” He leaned towards Peter and Peter backed up further, his shoulders pressing into the door uncomfortably as he slid halfway off the seat. He was surprised to find that the man was holding out a take-away cup, the Starbucks trademark pointed towards Peter, whipped cream gathering under the plastic dome at the top and a red straw peaking out. ”I got this for you.”

Peter stared at the drink, uncomprehending. ”What?” 

”Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino.” He shook it in Peter's direction and ice cubes clicked softly inside the cup. ”For you.” 

Peter reached out a hand tentatively, mostly because he didn't know what else to do. ”I … I'm not sure ...”

”Ever had one?”

”No.”

”Oh, you're gonna love it!” the man said loudly and Peter jumped, his fingers tightening around the cup. The man was watching him, practically vibrating with excitement. ”Come on, take a sip.”

”I ...” 

”That wasn't a suggestion,” he added and there was an undercurrent of unforgiving steel in his voice that set Peter on edge and took him back to a night almost a year ago. 

_“If you try that again, I'll slit your throat.”_

Peter swallowed. ”Is it poisoned? Or drugged?”

The man stared at him for a long moment, then he laughed – a soft, almost gentle sound. ”Sure, bambi, I go through all this trouble to stalk you and kill a guy, just to buy you a fucking frappuccino to finish you off _Desperate Houswives_ -style. Does that sound like something I would do?”

Peter stared at him. ”I ... don't know?”

”You're too cute. Drink it.”

Peter took a careful sip.

”Now, does that not taste like a piece of Ryan Reynold's ass?”

Peter almost choked on the frappuccino and coughed. ”I'm not sure I would … describe it that way.” He took another sip, mainly because it seemed to calm the other man down. ”But it's good. Thank you.”

”D'aw,” the guy said, shifting to side sideways on the seat, his arm over the back of it. ”You're sweet, bambi.” He waited for Peter to sip again and Peter gave him a tentative smile, only to flinch back when the guy shifted closer to him. To his surprise, he paused, his head tilting questioningly. ”Do I scare you, baby boy?”

”I ...” He swallowed. ”A bit.”

”Is it the mask? Believe me, taking it off would only scare you more.” He reached out a hand. ”I'm Deadpool, by the way. Never introduced myself. Kinda rude. Not that you were doing much introducing yourself last time we met.” 

Peter tentatively accepted the handshake, retrieving his hand as soon as possible. ”I'm Peter.”

”Parker,” Deadpool added. ”A.k.a. the Queens Orphan, a.k.a. Spider-Man.” He nodded. ”I dig the name, by the way. And the costume. And the _moves_. I checked up on you after we met, just here and there. YouTube videos, mostly. And then you were gone. Just went missing. And then that picture of you and Stark appeared everywhere and I thought to myself, _'Deadpool,'_ I thought, _'that pretty little face is really familiar.'_ I couldn't be sure, though. My mind tends to play tricks on me, you know.” 

Peter frowned at him. ”So you came here to stalk me to see whether it was _actually_ me? _That's_ why you're here?” 

”No, baby boy, I'm here because the author is trying to wrap things up and I'm the elephant in the room she hasn't dealt with yet.” He giggled. ”No, forget that. That's only secondary. Of _course_ I'm here because I wanted to see for myself. I had nothing better to do. 'sides, never really been to New York. So, prime opportunity.”

Peter nodded. ”Okay, well, you've seen me. So you can stop following me around now.”

Deadpool's eyebrows raised. Peter wondered how he'd managed to fabricate a mask that was so expressive. ”Oh? What are you gonna do if I don't? Throw on that tight little suit and make me? I'd love to see that.” He leaned back. ”By the way, I saved your life again, no need to thank me or anything.”

”Tony saved my life.”

”Well, _Tony_ didn't stop that guy from leaving the Tower, did he? That idiot was gonna go back to his bosses and spew all kinds of stories about you, baby boy.”

Peter's eyes widened. ”So you _killed_ him to keep him quiet?”

”Yes.” 

Peter shook his head. ”Well, you shouldn't have. We could've found out who they were working for by questioning him.”

Deadpool shrugged. ”I tried, he wouldn't talk.”

”Still, you can't just _kill_ people. You could've just incapacitated him, waited for the police to arrive.”

Deadpool snorted. ”You're adorable.”

”It was _wrong_.”

Deadpool leaned in suddenly, his jovial mood gone, his hand closing around the collar of Peter's jacket to pull him close. Peter's danger-sense started to shriek and he dropped the cup, his hand going up to push against Deadpool's chest – a warning, nothing more. Because Deadpool had stopped to move as soon as he'd pulled Peter in. He wasn't actually hurting him. ”Listen, baby boy. In case you missed my point last time, I don't appreciate criticism.”

Peter held his gaze, his body rigid, ready to fight.

”I was trying to help.”

Peter took a deep breath, terrified but determined. ”If you wanna help … leave me alone. Leave _Tony_ alone.” 

Deadpool smirked. ”Bambi,” he said gently, ”hurting IronDad was never even the plan. Is it so hard to believe that I just wanna make sure you're okay?”

”Why would you _care_?”

”Why would I get you out of a lab? Pull you out of a fire? Out of a river? Hide you from the police? Make sure that you get home safely?”

Peter swallowed against a wave of nausea, memories from that night tumbling in uncontrollably. ”You didn't do that last thing.” 

”Just because you didn't see me, bambi, doesn't mean I wasn't there.”

Peter stared at him. ”Why?” 

Deadpool tilted his head to the side, regarding him silently. ”'Cause nobody deserves that shit show they were going to pull on you and because you're a kid who walked away from that hellish night with a lot more guts than many adults I know. You even managed to sit there in all your concussed glory and _lecture_ me. There's a word for people who do that: Dead.” His fingers loosened, letting go of Peter slowly. Deadpool slid towards the door. ”Anyway, I gotta split. Just wanted to make sure you know where we stand.”

Peter couldn't help himself. He asked, ”And where's that?”

Deadpool smiled at him. ”You've got no reason to be scared of me, baby boy. I may look like a nightmare, but I'm not yours.” He opened the door and paused, looking back at Peter. ”Just out of curiosity: how old are you?” 

Peter hesitated, but then he answered, ”Fifteen.” 

”Damn. Such a long wait,” Deadpool muttered. ”Anywho, why don't you pass the time until your driver wakes up by thinking about how we met?”

Peter frowned in confusion. ”Why would I do that?”

”Because some readers might want to get some context and one last flashback sounds about good right now to find closure.” 

With that, he got out of the car and shut the door.

 

***

 

**NINE MONTHS AGO**

 

Peter came to slowly with a cough catching in his throat and his head hurting. He opened his eyes and slammed them shut again when they were met by glaringly bright lights that made his retinas burn. He frowned, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. 

His last clear memory was putting on the suit and sneaking out of the apartment after telling May that he'd go to bed. 

He remembered running and jumping from roof to roof, slinging his way towards Brooklyn, and then further, crossing Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and arriving at the harbor after about thirty minutes, breathless and exhilarated. 

He remembered sitting on one of the cranes at the edge of the harbor to catch a break before heading back. 

He remembered seeing a dark van with its headlights off stopping at a warehouse and several guys with heavy-looking bags getting out and going inside. 

He remembered deciding to check the situation out. 

He remembered crawling in through a window on the top floor of the abandoned building and finding a weak light on one floor below, and he remembered sneaking closer on the ceiling, hidden among pipes, ventilation shafts and old power lines. 

He didn't remember anything after that. 

A hand cupped his temple and a thumb forced his eye open. 

Peter tried to rear back instinctively, but only managed to get rid of the hand. His feet and hands didn't move, caught by restraints. “What ...” His head was pressed back before he could see more than that he was in a small, tiled room with grimy lights shining dimly.

“Hold still,” a man wearing a lab coat said and he was blinded by a penlight. 

Peter tried to turn his head away, but a hand grabbing his hair forced him to still. The light vanished, as did the man, and Peter was left staring at the ceiling, his breathing fast and panicked. A flood light had been rolled close to the hard surface he was strapped to, blinding him almost completely. Peter's hands twisted, trying to get out of the restraints but he couldn't break them. Instead, they tightened further, cutting off his circulation and only loosening when he stopped to struggle.

His web-shooters were gone. As was his mask. 

He gasped and twisted, trying to see behind him. The guy was standing with his back to Peter at a table, typing into a laptop. Peter could see his web-shooters right next to it. He fought against the restraints with both hands and feet, trying to break free, but the effort only left him slumping back onto the table breathlessly, dizziness and nausea crawling up his throat.

“You won't be able to break them,” the man said conversationally. “You're not our first Inhuman.” He turned and smiled down at him, the white lab coat he was wearing stained brown near the collar. “But you're certainly the first who is so young.”

”Let me go.” He hated how breathless he sounded.

The man smiled and readied a syringe, drawing a clear liquid from a little vial. 

“What is that?” Peter asked, alarmed.

“Something to keep you pliant,” the guy answered. “Something to numb the pain during the procedure.”

Peter's heart skipped a beat, his wrists twisting against the restraints again. ”What procedure?”

”We found you sticking to a ceiling by your fingertips and feet and even after we tranquilized you, it took ten minutes and five guys to take you down. So we are assuming enhanced strength and an increased metabolism. We'll start of with some samples - blood, skin, spine fluid - and go from there.” 

A _scientist_. The guy was a _scientist_. And Peter was … he shook his head. ”You can't do that,” Peter said, his breathing increasing when the futility of just _saying_ the words became clear to him. Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes and he blinked them away angrily. “Let me go!”

The scientist just smiled. 

Peter's heart started to pound hard enough that he could feel it in his throat, fright making him tremble. He struggled against the restraints and actually managed to move the table, though the restraints didn't loosen. “Let me go!” Peter drew in a breath and screamed as loud as he could. “Help! He-”

A fist to his cheek cut him off abruptly and he was pinned to the table by his throat, a sob escaping him unbidden. The scientist snarled down at him. “That's enough now. All that is doing is piss me off. Shut up!” He let go and Peter coughed, tasting blood on his lip. “See it from the bright side,” the scientist said as his hand pushed Peter's sleeve up. ”The research we're doing here is going to help some very sick people get better.” 

The needle came down, piercing Peter's skin, and a whine escaped him. 

The scientist made a soothing noise. “It's alright, kid. You won't feel a thing.”

Peter could feel the drug flood his system, feeling cold in his veins, relentlessly pushed forward, his thoughts growing fuzzy and his limbs heavy. Hands touched his chest, slid underneath his sweater and then vanished. He heard a faint beeping sound, sluggish and irregular. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don't.”

The scientist leaned on the table, his hand brushing Peter's hair out of his forehead in a fatherly gesture that made him think of Ben. He tried to turn his head away but even trying made him fear he'd have to throw up. The scientist smiled at him. “I bet you regret playing Avenger now. Sneaking in and sticking your nose into matters that don't concern you.” He leaned closer, his fingers trailing from Peter's hair to his jaw, making Peter's skin crawl. “We're going to take good care of you, don't you worry.”

Peter lost time after that. He closed his eyes to the sight of the scientist leaning over him, smiling hauntingly, and opened them again to find him sitting on a chair next to him, tapping away on his laptop.

Peter's hands twisted, pulling against the restraints.

The scientist looked at him, smiling almost fondly. “Still unbreakable.”

The thumb on Peter's left hand was pounding insistently in pain and there was a lingering, stabbing ache in his back. “What'd you do?” he asked, his words coming out slurred, the drug leaving his system only reluctantly. He felt nauseous. 

The scientist looked at him with something akin to sympathy. ”Might have gone overboard with the sedative. Then again, you didn't go down easily. Woke up a few times during the procedure.” 

The pain in his thumb became stronger the more awake he became and he sat up as much as possible to find his thumb wrapped in gauze.

“It's still there, don't worry. We just took some skin samples. Should heal up without anyone being the wiser.” He slapped the laptop shut. “And since we're talking about healing up, do you have a healing factor?”

Peter stared up at him, not answering.

A slow smile was spreading over the scientist's face, his eyes crinkling in a way that would have seemed friendly in any other setting than here. “I'll take that as a maybe.” He leaned out of Peter's sight and then back in, holding a scalpel. “I don't like maybes, let's find out.”

Peter's danger-sense started to shriek and he jerked in the restraints.

“We'll make a small cut and right next to it a deeper one, but nothing life-threatening. Not yet. Just to establish a baseline. It'll hurt, but you'll survive.”

Peter leaned away from him, pulling against the restraints until his wrist and ankles felt like breaking ...

Somewhere, a door slammed closed and Peter heard a muffled shout, then gunfire which died down quickly.

The scientist straightened, his head turning towards the door just as two men entered, both of them holding guns. One of them spoke, but Peter didn't listen, instead using the distraction to try and gather his strength to pull out of the restraints, focusing on one wrist only. There was a lot he could do with one hand. It was enough to defend himself and get the other restraints off. He startled when his hair was grabbed and his head slammed back on the table.

“Who came here with you?!” the scientist yelled.

Peter gasped in pain. “Nobody!”

The hand in his hair tightened. “Tell me!”

“Nobody, I swear. Please ...” He yelped when guns were fired and shouts from the corridor floated in before one of the armed men slammed the door closed and turned the lock.

“It's him,” he said grimly, taking a stand with his gun raised and pointed at the door, the other man stepping up right next to him.

“He's just a man,” the scientist said. “Take him down.” He looked at Peter and paused, then he smiled ... and punched him in the face. The pain blossomed from Peter's cheek up to his eye, making his ears ring and his world spin for a moment. Enough so that he was unable to react when the restraints around his wrists were opened unexpectedly and he was yanked up and back against a hard chest, the scalpel resting against his neck threateningly and one hand keeping his jaw in a tight hold. “Let's see if he's willing to bargain for you, shall we?”

“I don't know him.”

“Shut up,” the scientist hissed, his fingers digging into Peter's cheek. “Don't move.”

The door crashed open and Peter flinched, the scalpel cutting skin. Peter barely registered the pain because his danger-sense started _wailing_.

He only saw a flash of red before gunfire took out the lights in the room, some bullets ricocheting wildly off the tiles. The body behind him jerked, Peter felt a warm spray along his neck and heard a sharp gasp of pain.

The hand around his jaw loosened, the scalpel dropped.

Peter reacted immediately, jerking his elbow back into the scientist's sternum. The man yelped in pain, stumbling backwards and Peter let himself fall to the floor, taking the table down with him. While his shaking fingers worked on the restraints around his ankles frantically, somebody screamed, high-pitched and pitiful ... he was silenced with a sudden finality. As he crawled back, away from the fist fight going on to his left, Peter's palm encountered something warm and wet on the floor, sticky against his skin. He pushed himself into a corner to cower between the wall and a ventilation shaft, squeezing himself into the deepest recesses of the small space to hide away ... and be forgotten.

There was a ripping sound, something heavy hitting the floor.

Silence. Peter reckoned that since the door had sprung open, no more than half a minute had passed.

There was a dim light spilling into the room from the corridor, flickering and barely enough to illuminate anything, really. The dark puddles spreading on the off-white tiles, though, were all too visible and there was nothing he could do as they soaked into his suit, warm and sticky. When Peter heard whimpering breaths being drawn, he clapped a hand over his mouth, fearing he was giving himself away, but the sound persisted and he realized that it didn't just come from him.

Steps walked past him, measured and slow. “You guys are like cockroaches,” a man said. “Take down some of you,” there was a noise, as if a fist hit skin and just kept going right into the flesh - as if somebody was stabbed - and a breathy whimper, “and more pop up somewhere else.”

Peter pulled his legs closer to his chest and put his head down against his knees, muffling his breathing against the suit.

“So tell me,” the voice became more jovial, like they were having a friendly conversation. “Where would I find the boss of you guys?”

There was stubborn silence, no answer.

Then a scream.

“Do I have to ask again?”

A whimper turned into another scream and Peter heard a ripping sound accompanied by a choking noise. He slammed his hands over his ears and pressed back even further, squeezing his eyes shut against the sight of more blood pooling towards him, feeling it soak into his suit. His hands didn't cancel out the noise completely. He heard shouting and screaming, then a gunshot and what sounded like a fight, as if somebody else had joined just now, and then ... nothing.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, staring directly into the dead ones of the scientist. His neck was cut open, blood pumping out steadily. Peter gasped and immediately slapped a hand on his mouth to quiet himself, not sure whether the man in red was still there. Tears started to blur his sight and a sob was stuck in his chest.

A hand grabbed his arm and he screamed, kicking whoever was holding him as he was dragged out of his hiding place. The strong grip loosened and he started to run, tripping over another dead body in his panic and slamming into the overturned table on his way down, his forehead hitting the edge hard, his vision blacking out for a second.

“Aw, hell, that's gotta hurt,” the guy said. “Take it easy for a sec.”

Peter ignored the pain in his head and the dizziness when he heard him approach and scrambled over the table, gathering his reserves to jump out the door and cling to the wall in the corridor. It gave him a bit of head-way. He let go and landed on his feet, starting to run.

“Hey, lab rat, wrong direction!”

Peter ignored him, his feet slamming onto the floor with every step, his breathing coming in panicked little gasps, his vision blurred by tears and what was sure to become a concussion. He found a door and opened it, stopping short at the sight of what looked like state-of-the-art laboratory equipment crammed into an abandoned, grimy and dirty room. 

Stopping short at the sight of more bodies. 

There was a loud bang from below and Peter stumbled as the floor shook, the steel beams creaking in protest. He fell to his knees, unable to look away from the dead … unable to tell how many there were. He raised one hand to his mouth, hoping to be able to keep the crawling nausea at bay.

“Get away from there!” the guy yelled. “It's rigged-”

He was cut off by Peter's danger-sense shrieking at him and he slammed the door closed. That didn't stop the explosion from tearing it off its hinges, hitting Peter in the shoulder as he tried to duck away and slamming him back against the wall where he landed in a disoriented, crumpled heap of limbs, his ears ringing, his head hurting ... he inhaled smoke and coughed, his lungs seizing painfully. There was another bang from below, vibrating through the floor. His body started to feel heavy and useless again, the bout of adrenaline drowned out by the concussion. He felt the heat of a fire against his face, the smoke not letting him inhale properly. He forced himself to move his limbs, checking for broken bones and tried to get up, but he got dizzy, stumbled and fell.

A shadow rushed past him and he turned just as the man emerged from the smoke. He could barely see, he could hardly breathe ... strong hands gripped him and pulled him to his feet before he was thrown over someone's shoulder. He found himself staring at a broad back encased in red leather, a harness holding two swords crossed between the shoulder blades digging into Peter's ribs. His limp fingers brushed over a holster by the man's thigh and he caught himself reaching for the gun before his hand was grabbed and held in a vice-like, unforgiving grip. “We don't know each other well enough for that,” the guy said.

He stumbled when another bang vibrated through the building, bracing himself against the wall. “And there goes my exit strategy. Should've just left you.” He shifted Peter on his shoulder and Peter groaned in pain, his vision graying out, the noises and heat growing farther away, the pain receding ... glass shattered and then he was falling, water was closing in around him, pulling him under and away. The cold brought him back to full awareness and Peter tried to swim to the surface, but after a few seconds of struggling against the current, he realized that he wasn't even sure whether he was swimming in the right direction. It was dark and murky all around him, up and down looked exactly the same, he felt tired and cold and he hurt all over. He couldn't move, his eyes closing and his lungs bursting with the need to breathe. He almost gave in, almost ... a hand grabbed his collar, curling against his throat, and he was yanked upward, breaking the surface.

He gasped for breath, gulping in air and coughing, hanging limply in the grip of the man in red as he was pulled towards the shore. He saw the burning building loom right in front of them, windows shattering in the heat and flames licking into the night sky. Peter stumbled when he felt ground underneath his feet, his collar still in the hard grip of the other man, who was dragging him along none too gently and then dropped him without warning. He landed on the riverbank, coughing and heaving, small stones cutting into his hands.

Peter breathed until his heart rate had calmed a bit, until his lungs didn't feel ready to burst anymore, until everything that had happened within the last hour finally _really_ caught up with him, causing tears to gather in his eyes and his breathing to hitch for an entirely different reason.

Someone kicked his stomach to flip him over, a hand closing around his throat. Adrenaline and his danger-sense giving a jolt caused him to kick out. The guy flew back and Peter tried to crawl away, but he wasn't very fast, the concussion making him uncoordinated. He was flipped over onto his back again and a hand grabbed his hair. The blade of one of the swords rested against his cheek threateningly as he was pressed into the hard ground. ”If you try that again, I'll slit your throat.” He froze. “Wait a sec ...” The blade vanished and Peter's face was turned to face the light of the burning building a few steps away from them. “Fucking hell,” the guy said. “You're just a baby.”

Peter was again made aware of the fact that he'd lost his mask. The guy looming over him, however … Peter stilled, staring up at a face covered by a red mask, white eyes circled by black shadows.

Peter drew a breath as his throat constricted and his eyes welled up, the words driving home just what had happened tonight.

How helpless he'd been on that table. He could have died tonight. He could have become the pet project of some mad scientist, being killed piece by piece. He would have never seen May again or Ned or anyone who meant anything to him.

And those men ... the way they'd died, the blood, the screams ...

A sob escaped him.

“Shit,” the guy said, slumping to the ground next to him. “Fuck this. They going after kids now?” He got up and walked away, stopped facing the river.

Peter drew a few deep breaths, wiping his eyes as he tried to calm down. It wasn't easy. The sobs and tears kept coming, his fear finally having found an outlet. He managed, though, forcing his feelings into a box and locking it tightly, determined to only let go again once he was home. 

The man in red was still standing with his back to Peter, muttering softly. Peter didn't even try to listen … he tried to leave. He stumbled to his feet, swaying and falling back against the riverbank.

“Take it easy, bambi.” 

A hand slid around his shoulders but Peter slapped it away, rearing back instinctively. “Don't!” 

”Hey, just trying to help.” He held his gloved hands up, palms facing Peter. “You're safe, okay? They won't bother you anymore. You saw what I did to them.”

”Go away,” Peter answered, his voice wavering. “You killed them all.”

”Yes,” the guy answered, unapologetic. “By the way: You're welcome. You have no idea what kind of shit-show they were going to put you through. You owe me.”

”You _killed_ them! You can't do that!” 

The man stared at him for a long moment. ”You've had a tough night, bambi. I'll let this slide.” The sound of sirens made him turn his head towards the warehouse. “Shit. We gotta go.” He tried to grab Peter's arm but Peter leaned out of range. The man stared at him in exasperation. ”Come on, baby boy. What's your damage? I'm trying to help!”

”I don't want you to,” Peter answered, getting to his feet with a sudden bout of energy. ”I want you to leave me alone.” 

”They'll arrest you.”

”Let them! I'll tell them all about you.”

”Really? Because that nice little outfit you're wearing is not making you look suspicious at all.”

Peter whirled around and walked away from him, towards the warehouse and the flashing blue lights.

”Bambi,” the guy said. ”Bambi, don't be stupid.”

”Stop following me,” Peter snapped, turning back around to him. ”Go away. I don't ...” Dizziness caught him by surprise and his knees gave in … and Peter fell. 

He didn't even remember hitting the ground. 

He remembered hands picking him up and he remembered the night air on his face as somebody hummed softly, wiping his face with something wet and checking on his wounds. He remembered the man in red crouching in front of him. “I'll see you around, baby boy.”

He woke up looking at the sunrise, tucked away in a protected corner of a rooftop with a view on the harbor, smoke still rising from the warehouse and a _Hello Kitty_ blanket draped over him. He considered approaching the police still gathered at the warehouse, but in the end, he didn't. It would have been too hard to explain. It would break May's heart. And Peter simply didn't want to deal with having to rehash what had happened, didn't want to deal with more doctors or – possibly – more hours being poked and prodded like a lab rat. So he discarded his suit in favor of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt which he found hanging out to dry and it took him almost four hours to walk home. 

May freaked out about the bruises and cuts and didn't seem to believe the story about a party gone wrong ( _“... I'm sorry I sneaked out. I'll never do it again ...”_ ). He didn't have to fake his tears of remorse and he knew that May was crying as well as she cradled Peter on the couch like she did when he was six and scared of losing her and Ben just like he had his parents. 

She knew he was lying. She would never learn the truth.

Peter didn't go out as Spider-Man again for a week. And then he found May crying over unpaid bills and because she was missing Ben and Peter knew he could avoid other people feeling like she did – like he did – if he was out there, using his powers. 

So he bought a new suit and he made new web-shooters. He moved on. Even if he had nightmares sometimes, even if he woke up thinking he wasn't alone and couldn't breathe until he'd switched on the light and checked no monsters were hiding in the darkness. 

It was _fine_. 

_He_ was _**fine**_.

 

***

 

**NOW**

 

The penthouse at night was quiet; a dimly-lit, comfortable and peaceful haven. Tony had spent most of his nights on Earth awake, being more of a night-active person by nature and out of convenience. At night, he got some peace. No phone calls to interrupt him, no people to visit, no meetings to attend. Just him and his workshop and his newest project.

First, it had been his relationship with Pepper which had changed that to at least some degree, causing him to remain curled up with her in bed at night more often than not. Now, he was loathe to admit, age was probably starting to play a role. 

That didn't stop him from waking from nightmares, unable to fall back asleep. And Deadpool's little stunt from the afternoon was enough reason to warrant some nightmares, though Peter seemed fine and the driver had only been given a light tranquilizer. 

That didn't stop Tony's subconscious from conjuring up all the ways the encounter could have gone wrong and it was three in the morning before he gave up on sleep altogether. 

He opened the fridge and got a bottle of water out, pressing it to his nape, still feeling sweaty and jittery. He walked over to the couch, half-expecting Peter to be curled up there, asleep, but the couch was empty. Just like Peter's room had been. Tony looked around and it was only now that he saw the lights of the workshop shine dimly through the windows of Bruce's lab.

”F.R.I.D.A.Y., is Peter in up?”

_”Yes, Boss.”_

”Since when?”

_”For about two hours now.”_

Tony sighed. ”It's a school night,” he muttered.

_”Shall I remind him of that?”_

”No, it's alright.” He took the stairs upwards. ”I'm pretty sure he knows.”

He opened the door to the workshop, ready to join Peter in whatever project he'd immersed himself in to try and find the perfect time to gently point him towards bed … but he paused, taken aback. Peter was leaning over the workbench in the center of the room, where the most light was, a screwdriver in one hand while the other scrolled through page after page on one of the holographic screens. Tony knew the file he was reading, could still remember writing it while he perfected the technology and watched videos on YouTube on repeat to fit the requirements of its owner just right. Only, he hadn't known back then that the owner would be a kid from Queens. 

Peter's eyes shifted from the screen to Tony and he paused. ”Hey.”

”Hey,” Tony answered cautiously. He approached the workbench. 

Peter brushed a hand through his tousled hair, making it stand up at odd ends. He was wearing his Midtown High hoodie and pajama pants. He'd clearly been to bed already. ”It jammed,” he said as Tony stepped closer. ”During the fight.”

Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise. ”It did?” He stopped next to Peter and looked down at the web-shooter. Peter had opened it to reveal the mechanism inside.

”Yeah. It looks like the web fluid dried out. This didn't happen with my old web-shooters. They worked.” 

Tony nodded with a frown, having a look at the damage himself. ”Okay.” 

”So I was trying to find out why and I think that the insulation for the cartridges needs improvement. We both never took into account that there might be weeks of inactivity during which the web fluid could dry out, but I might have made the right choice in the material by accident?”

”My ...” Tony cleared his throat, still taken aback by Peter even showing interest in the web-shooter. ”The material of the cartridges was designed to be light-weight, not great on insulation. I didn't think they'd last too long. I was estimating you'd go through ten to twenty cartridges per month.”

”I think we should improve the insulation. What if extreme heat or cold will make the fluid go wonky during slinging or a fight?”

”Is there a chance of that happening?” Tony asked carefully. ”I mean, the slinging or the fighting.”

Peter looked up at him. ”Maybe. Is there a chance the Avengers might reunite?”

Tony took a deep breath, holding Peter's gaze. ”Maybe.”

”Do you ever miss them?”

”All the time.” Tony shrugged, ducking his head. ”I don't … exclude the possibility that the Avengers can find their way back together. But Steve needs to understand that, yes, the Accords are messed up. But they're a measure that we needed to take. Natasha knows this, it's why she signed them. Rhodey and Vision as well.” He looked at Peter, finding him staring at him attentively, curiously. “The world was starting to fear us. We couldn't stand there and ignore them. They're the ones we were trying to protect, they had a right to be heard. Cooperating with them now, sitting in those meetings, brings me that much closer to being part of the important decisions.” He swallowed and hook his head, lowering his voice, though he didn't quite know why. ”I'm trying to do right by everyone who is in the focus of those Accords.”

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving Tony's for a long while. ”Okay,” he said then.

”Okay?” 

”Yeah. I trust you.” Peter turned back to the web-shooter. ”I'm not signing them, though.”

”I didn't expect you to.” Tony put an arm around Peter's shoulders, pulling him into his side. ”How's your headache been?”

Peter shrugged, fiddling with the screwdriver. ”Four.” 

”Really?” 

Peter nodded. ”It's been okay. Bearable. Decreasing.”

”We're making progress, then?”

”Yes,” Peter answered, looking up at him. “I think we are.”

Tony smiled. ”So,” he said, clearing his throat. ”Insulation. What were your thoughts?”

Peter beamed at him and reached out to the screen. ”I've got an idea already.”

Tony pulled up a chair, sitting down. ”Show me.”

 

END  
07/17


End file.
